


The Rumour Mill

by enchantedteapot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus is an idiot, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Gryffindor Rose Weasley, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Humor, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Oblivious Rose, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Slytherin Scorpius Malfoy, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2020-10-12 13:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchantedteapot/pseuds/enchantedteapot
Summary: Everyone thinks Rose & Scorpius are sleeping together. They’re not and Rose is furious that Malfoy seems to be encouraging the rumours.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is rated Mature for scenes in the final chapter.

Rose awoke that Saturday morning to a strange feeling of contentment. She woke naturally, no need for her usual weekday alarms, and could feel the spring sunshine streaming in through her crooked window blinds, casting her neck and shoulders in a warm bath of light. The sheets entangling her legs felt clean and crisp for once, having finally managed to sneak her laundry into the washing machine between Albus' never ending loads of dirty Quidditch kits, and she silently thanked Merlin for taking her cousin Roxanne's advice about investing in a King-sized bed. Despite the fact it took up nearly every spare inch of space in her tiny, rented bedroom, the luxury of being able to stretch out her limbs after a wearing week at work gave her unbridled pleasure.

Relishing in this recent, exuberant purchase, Rose threw her arms and legs wide beneath the sheets, earning – to her abject horror – a snarled curse from the direction of her spare pillow.

"Buggering Hell, Weasley! I can think of nicer ways to wake up than being kicked squarely in the Gobstones!"

Blue eyes snapping open and scrambling to sit upright, Rose stared down in mad panic at the young man occupying the other half of her bed. Scorpius Malfoy winced back at her, bent double beneath the sheets, grumbling a string of curse words and clutching at his groin.

"Malfoy!" Rose shouted in surprise. "You're in my bed!"

"Very astute of you," he snapped, still nursing his unfortunate injury. "How wonderful to see that Auror training extends to observational skills _and _physical combat."

Rose's mouth gaped. "My bed. You're in my bed," she blinked away the last vestiges of sleep, growing increasingly furious by the second. "Why in the name of Merlin's left arse cheek are you in my bed, Malfoy?!"

Scorpius simply groaned and rolled over to face away from her angry onslaught. "And it is _far _too early for anyone to be squealing like that."

"I do _not _squeal!" she smacked him hard in the arm, momentarily distracted. "I am not a piglet!" Although, given quite how startled she was to find this particular individual next to her in bed that morning and how high-pitched her admonishments sounded even to her own ears, it was entirely plausible that she was indeed squealing.

Clambering out of bed and over the semi-lifeless body of her bedfellow, she turned to glare at him, hands on hips. "_Malfoy,_" she started, warningly, "explain yourself this minute or…" she let her threat hang in the air. They both knew the level of punishment she was capable of exacting.

Scorpius prised one eye open and stared at her, his silver gaze dropping to her choice of nightwear, an amused smirk quickly following. Rose glanced down at herself and blushed crimson. It had been a warm May evening the night before and she'd gone to bed in nothing but a thin vest top and a pair of old knickers, patterned with tiny red and gold lions.

"Bloody Gryffindors," he chuckled.

She glared and snatched at the bed sheets, ripping them away from Scorpius and wrapping herself up in them like a ridiculous oversized toga. Unfortunately, this now left him rather exposed instead. He lay there in nothing but a pair of grey boxers, and from the way his smirk was widening, was clearly far less opposed to showing off his underwear than she. Rose averted her gaze from the sight of him, practically naked and man-spreading across her sheets. If she wasn't entirely mistaken, he appeared to have something of a morning arousal. The very fact that she now had that unfortunate image burned into her brain made her cheeks flush an unusually vibrant shade of beetroot.

"You have five seconds to explain yourself, Scorpius, or I am hexing your 'gobstones' to ensure that you are the last of the so-called 'Pure and Ancient' Malfoy line!" she snarled at him.

He propped himself up on one elbow and gave her his best puppy dog stare, pale blond hair mussed haphazardly. "Look, Weasley, I swear to you, there was nowhere else for me to stay."

She gawped at him. "How about literally anywhere else in the world but here?"

He merely rolled his eyes. "I was out with Albus and we both drank too much to apparate home. My new place isn't on the Floo network yet, so Al said I could stay here."

"And you're in my room, not his, because?"

"He, er, brought a girl home with him." Scorpius was practically beaming with fraternal pride.

Rose rolled her eyes. Well, that was hardly an unusual occurrence. One of her many gripes with her cousin, best friend and flatmate, was that he was currently cycling through women as if sex was going out of fashion. "And you couldn't just sleep on the sofa like a normal person?"

"Er, you don't have one anymore," he grinned, sheepishly, "sorry about that too, by the way."

_Bollocks_, he was right, she realised. Their lovely green suede couch had recently been the unwitting victim of a classic Al versus Scorpius duel to the death. On this occasion, wands had been foregone in favour of dungbombs, smuggled no doubt from her Uncle George's shop. Rose had come home to a wall to wall stench and a variety of dubious stains on her furniture. The couch, she could only presume, had been used as some sort of barricade during the hard-fought tussle, and was irreparably stink-ridden. She had eviscerated it that same night and charged Albus with buying a replacement. A task he had evidently yet to succeed at.

It was incidents such as the dungbomb fiasco which had helped to elevate Scorpius over the years to the position of Rose's least favourite houseguest. That and his obnoxious behaviour, his stance on almost every major moral and political argument and his ever-growing opinion of himself, to name but a few of his notable charms. Rose had had the misfortune of Scorpius' unwanted presence in her life for far longer than she would have cared for, ever since he and Albus had become friends at Hogwarts. The two had been sorted into Slytherin together, whilst she had been sent off to live in Gryffindor Tower, the boys' bond deepening through a mutual love of Quidditch, general mischief and – as they got older – charming unsuspecting witches with their easy grins and knowing smirks.

Rose found the double act vomit inducing.

At least when it came to Albus, she knew there was another side to him. They'd practically grown up as siblings, after all, and so she loved him in a way that such annoyances could just about be overcome. Al could also be kind when he wanted to be – he would make her tea in the morning before a long shift, would run her a bath if he knew she'd had a day of heavy field training and send her postcards whenever he trained away with the Falmouth Falcons.

Scorpius, as far as she could tell, had absolutely no such redeeming qualities. Not that she had any desire to receive postcards from the prat, mind you.

"This is not okay," Rose pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head of matted copper curls and muttered to herself. "This is absolutely not okay. There has to be boundaries! He can't just let himself in to my bedroom, _my bed_ no less, like he owns the place -,"

"You know, Weasley," came that infuriating drawl, "they say talking to oneself is often the first sign of madness." Scorpius, still making himself comfortable on her inviting King-sized mattress, grinned up at her. "And I should know, runs in the family, probably all the inbreeding."

She glared, "Actually, I'm just rehearsing what I'm about to say to Al, to convince him once and for all that you are _banned _from coming to this flat!"

"Now, now, no need to be like that," he swung his legs round so he was perched on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms leisurely over his head with a yawn.

"Malfoy, I'm serious," she snapped at him. "This is my personal space! You've gone too far this time -,"

"I really didn't think you'd mind," he shrugged, deflecting her rage with his usual nonchalance. "Besides, you didn't even know I was there. Why do you have such a big bed in here anyway? Planning on entertaining some lucky half-giant, I bet. Professor Hagrid got a cousin?" The rude grin he was now offering her was enough to make her blood boil. She settled for the most poisonous glare she could muster, fists clenching where they still gripped at the sheets.

"One of these days, I'm going to perfect my anti-arsehole wards on this flat and you're going to splinch yourself to high heaven trying to apparate into our living room."

Unfortunately, this only served to make the prat howl with laughter. "Merlin, you are _feisty_ first thing in the morning, Rosie!"

"And for the last time, do _not _call me that!" she turned on her heel, half stumbling over the tangle of sheets around her ankles as she stomped for her bedroom door, Scorpius padding barefoot and practically naked in her wake, still bubbling with laughter. "You are truly the most insufferable git, Malfoy! How Al manages to spend so much bloody time with you when I would rather pull out every single one of my eyelashes by hand, is completely and utterly beyond me!"

"And you, Weasley, are an absolute delight and always have been. I really ought to come for sleepovers more often, don't you think?"

"No, I do _not_ think-,"

"_Rosie_?!"

At the sound of such a loud, feminine screech, Rose came to a sudden halt just over the threshold of her now open bedroom door. Scorpius – who was not paying attention to anything other than himself, as usual – stumbled into the back of her, slipping on her gown of sheets and inadvertently pulling them off her petite frame. Rose squealed again (she didn't think she'd ever made that noise before today and now listen to her) and reached out a hand to steady herself on the nearest firm object. Which just so happened to be Scorpius' chest. Instinctively, he slipped an arm around her waist to catch her.

And so that is how Lily Potter found them that morning: stumbling out of Rose's bedroom together, half naked and tangled in the sheets from the night before, hair mussed and arms around each other.

Rose stared at Lily. Lily stared at Rose. Malfoy stared at Lily and then at Rose and then at Lily again and snorted in amusement.

"S-sorry, Rosie, I was just returning that dress… didn't realise you had… _company,_" Lily babbled, eyes darting curiously between the two of them, the spare set of keys that Albus claimed to have lost last month clutched in her fist.

It took Rose a few seconds to contemplate the horror of the situation she now found herself in. A picture of innocence, in her white tea-dress beneath a yellow raincoat that clashed awfully with her hair, Lily Potter was really anything but. Rose knew, after years of suffering the consequences of the girl's thirst for gossip and overactive imagination, that she'd just stumbled firmly into her cousin's cross-hairs.

"Lily," she started warily, swatting away Scorpius' hand that was still inexplicably resting at her hip, "this is absolutely not what it looks like -,"

"Oh, I'm sure," Lily's gaze fell to the sizeable and oddly persistent bulge at the front of Scorpius' boxers, and Rose could only watch as her eyes grew to the size of saucers. Lily threw her a scandalised look and winked in a way that couldn't have been less subtle if she'd actually tried.

Rose's cheeks turned a colour to match her hair. "Lily! I swear to you on Great-Aunt Muriel's life this is not -, I mean _this _did not happen!" she gestured wildly between herself and Scorpius.

The younger girl's eyebrows were creeping up her forehead at a rate of knots. Scorpius was muttering something about waiting to see if they would fall off her face entirely, which Rose pointedly ignored.

"Honestly, Rosie, it's really none of my business," Lily could barely contain her glee. As if that had ever stopped her before, Rose thought crossly. "I'm actually not surprised though, I had money on you two getting together much sooner than this -,"

Rose felt her heart starting to pound in her chest. "Good Godric_,_ Lily! Are you deaf? We didn't - I mean, we haven't -… _this_ did not happen!"

"Whas-all the yelling about?" A bleary eyed, wonky haired Albus chose that moment to appear out of his own bedroom. The other three caught a glimpse of discarded clothes and the unmistakeable shape of a naked woman under his sheets before the door swung shut behind him.

Rose, pointedly ignoring Lily's mutterings of "_Merlin_, this place is practically a brothel," turned on Albus furiously: "I need to talk to you! About your useless prick of a best friend!"

Lily let out a gasp, "You mean Al doesn't even know yet?! Oh, this is _good_."

"Lily, please!" Rose hissed desperately.

Albus squinted between the two girls. "What don't I know yet? Lily, why are you even here?"

"You don't _know_ about Malfoy and Rosie!" Lily ignored him, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet in excitement.

"For the last time, there is no '_Malfoy and Rosie'_," Rose was practically snarling now. "The prat was in my bed when I woke up, tell them Malfoy!"

She whipped around, red hair flying, only to find that he had disappeared. He emerged moments later at the archway to their little kitchenette, having apparently walked off to make himself a cup of coffee. Make that two cups. Sipping casually at his own, he brought the second over to her. Startled, Rose blinked down at her favourite _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes _mug with the chip in the rim – when in the name of Helga's saggy tits had Malfoy ever made her a cup of coffee before? – only snapping out of her bewildered reverie at Lily's audible: "That is so sweet!"

Hurrying to rid herself of this unwelcome offering and deliver him a poisonous (if somewhat confused) glare at the same time, she almost missed the odd little exchange between Scorpius and her sleep-deprived cousin. Lucky for her, Auror training really did sharpen your observational skills and so she caught the silent raised eyebrow from Al, and the all-but-imperceptible shake of the head from Scorpius in return.

"Look, Malfoy," Rose frowned, unable to escape the feeling that there was something there she wasn't totally privy to, "can you just tell them that there is no 'us', that we did not sleep together, and that you are simply an idiot with no respect for social boundaries?"

He appeared to consider this for a moment, took another slow sip of his coffee and then, "Weasley, that was - hands down - the best night of my life."

Rose gawped. Albus snorted. Lily clapped with glee.

"You treacherous git!" Rose snarled at him from between clenched teeth. Scorpius simply smirked, ruffling a hand through her already matted curls, and sauntered back into her bedroom, presumably to put some much-needed clothes on. In desperation, Rose turned back to Lily, and instantly knew that the damage was already done. Lily was practically skipping on the spot, vibrating with an energy that Rose didn't think was entirely healthy and probably mentally calculating how many people she could share this piece of news with before lunchtime.

"This is so brilliant, Rosie!" she cried.

"Lily, please listen-," Rose groaned, knowing full well it was far too late for reasoning with her.

"I have to go, meeting Roxy for coffee, but I can't wait to hear how this _finally _happened!" she crowed animatedly, half tripping over herself to head back out the front door. "I bet it's romantic – _oh!_ and you _have_ to tell me what he's like in the sack, because I've always imagined he must have a ginormous -,"

Rose was thankfully spared from hearing the end of that sentence by Albus slamming the door shut in his little sister's face. He offered her a part sympathetic, part disgusted grimace and shook his head as if to dislodge Lily's words from his ears.

"My sister needs to keep her imaginings to herself," he griped, looking up as Scorpius reappeared out of Rose's room, mercifully now clothed in a rumpled green t-shirt and dark jeans – standard fare for a night out in one of the Muggle London bars the two liked to spend their Friday nights in. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to it, then," Al muttered with a smirk of his own. Rose grimaced, she hated how he'd picked up that habit from his ghoul of a best friend. "And don't forget, Rosie, Sunday lunch at Grandma's tomorrow. It's bound to be, er, quite an interesting one now, I reckon."

Rose paled as Albus sloped back into his room, chuckling to himself. She just about glimpsed the bare leg of his night-time companion poking out from the duvet before the door swung shut, leaving her and Scorpius alone in the living room. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to process the truly horrendous start to her day, and giving Scorpius – if he knew what was good for him – a five second head start to make his escape before she hexed his arse into oblivion.

Evidently, he did not care much for self-preservation for when she opened her eyes again, fury simmering in the heat of her azure stare, he was leaning back against her door frame and grinning at her. "So," he drawled, "how long until I read about our upcoming nuptials in _Witch Weekly_, do you reckon?"

Rather than offer him a response – and she had many, several of which pertaining to the fact the he'd just admitted to reading _Witch Weekly_ – Rose growled darkly and dived for her wand atop of the ring-stained coffee table. Eyes widening, Scorpius darted across the room and away from her, holding his hands up defensively.

"Oi! Careful! How do you know that the bird Al brought home isn't a…" he mouthed the word, "_MUGGLE_?!"

"You think I give a rats arse about the Statute of Secrecy after what you've just done?!" Rose advanced on him, furiously. The very tips of her curls crackling with unbridled rage.

"Alright, well…" Scorpius grappled for a way to stop the approaching onslaught of the human fireball. The fact that she was clad only in her knickers and vest making her no less terrifying. "In that case, it's just as well that it's Emily Longbottom he's got in there, isn't it?"

Rose stumbled to a halt, face a picture of shock. "That's… that's _Emily_?!"

The various scenarios in which Albus Potter had somehow managed to bed Rose's old dorm-mate turned Auror-Training partner, not to mention his childhood crush since third year, briefly flashed through her mind. The ones not involving the _Imperius _curse were rather few and far between and so she turned to stare at his closed door as if that would somehow provide her with answers. A moment too late, she realised that was exactly what Scorpius had counted on, and she whirled back around to find him across the room, one leg in the Floo already.

"Malfoy!" she hissed. "Get back here!"

He merely offered her a triumphant grin. "Been an absolute pleasure as always, Weasley. And, just in case no one's ever told you before, you snore like a drowning Hippogriff."

Rose shrieked with rage, firing off a jinx that missed the fireplace by inches, as Scorpius disappeared in a flame of green. His laughter seeming to echo around the tiny living room even after he'd gone.

_Merlin_, that man was the epitome of evil! There was no doubt in her mind that every member of her family would have heard about this by tomorrow morning. And whether or not he truly understood the Hell he had unleashed upon her by his actions, she planned on murdering him in the foulest way imaginable the moment she got the chance.

Scorpius Malfoy was dead meat.


	2. Chapter 2

Albus and Rose stood at the bottom of the Burrow’s garden, killing time and staring up at the house with an odd sense of foreboding. Their portkey had deposited them at the far end of the property’s small orchard about ten minutes ago, and Rose had so far been stalling with all the subtlety of an errant bludger.

First, she’d stopped to tie her shoelaces. Then she’d stopped to tie _Al’s_ shoelaces. Then she’d paused to inspect their grandad’s new gnome repellents with an unnecessary level of interest and even suggested a detour via the local village before Al put a firm hand on her shoulder.

“We don’t actually have to go to lunch, you know,” he peered at her with amused sea green eyes. “We _are_ adults… sort of. We could just owl and say we forgot,” he shrugged.

A bubble of hope formed in Rose’s chest, and burst almost as quickly as it came. “We both know that will just make it worse,” she grumbled, scowling up at the house as if it had somehow personally offended her. “I suspect a no-show is as good as pleading guilty in this case.”

Albus grinned wryly, “Probably true. Best just to bite the bullet with our lot, I reckon.”

Setting off up the short gravel path, Rose shot her cousin a quick sideways glance. In the twenty-four hours since she’d been erroneously accused of shagging his best mate, he hadn’t actually brought the issue up once. As grateful as she was for the avoidance of all subject matter relating to a certain Scorpius Malfoy, she found that rather odd. In fact, even when she’d approached him to set the record straight – on the off chance that he had also lost his godforsaken mind just like his sister – he’d simply cut her off, stuck a hand in her face and told her he was “keeping his nose out of it”, before leaving the room very very quickly. 

Weird.

They had also yet to broach the subject of _his _sleeping partner the previous night. Although, Rose wasn’t naïve enough to imagine he and Emily Longbottom had actually done very much sleeping, what with being rather drunk and naked and all.

She knew he had to have feelings about it. Surely this wasn’t just another one or two-night stand for him, how could it be? More to the point, it better bloody not be, she thought crossly.

Emily had been one of the first new friends Rose had made at Hogwarts, roughly about the same time that she’d realised it was actually quite a long trek from the Gryffindor Tower down to the dungeons, and that spending time with Al now meant also having to suffer Scorpius along with him.

Al had been more than a little smitten with the shiny new female friend Rose suddenly had in tow, not that he’d ever plucked up the courage to say anything. Then puberty had hit both he and Scorpius _hard_. They’d both shot up by half a foot, broadened out through endless nights spent out on the Quidditch pitches and learnt that there were enough young witches willing to snog them in a broom cupboard that they really didn’t need to try and woo anyone, anymore.

She chanced another look at her cousin as they sloped their way up to the house. With his hands deep in his pockets and a bored look on his face, he certainly didn’t appear to be battling any internal demons. She supposed, as he had been good enough not to force her to talk about Malfoy, she really couldn’t demand anything different of him, either.

With a sigh, Rose made a beeline for the front door. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

As the pair stepped into the warm glow of the Burrow’s kitchen there was a noticeable lull in the usual level of chatter around the room. Several sets of eyes swung round to land on them – or more specifically, Rose noted with a gulp, on her.

“Rosie, dear! You look lovely. Hands out of your pockets, Albus,” their Grandma Molly swallowed them into a warm, cinnamon-spiced hug, and instantly the volume in the room rose once again. 

“Let me take your coats dears, there we are,” she fussed over them. “Just the two of you, is it? Not brought any… friends?” she beamed up at them good naturedly, the picture of matriarchal innocence.

Rose glanced at Albus in exasperation – sweet Merlin, it had started already – and he valiantly tried to swallow his grin.

“No Grandma,” she smiled back sweetly. “Just us. Can’t imagine who else you might have been expecting.”

“Oh, well, nobody in particular dear! But you both know you’re always welcome to bring along a guest to Sunday dinner. Perhaps a friend, or a work colleague… or a new boyfriend, for instance,” her warm brown gaze zeroed in on her granddaughter. Rose could only blink back, stupidly. “Now, you two go wash up and help yourselves to lemonade on your way through.”

Albus took a gobsmacked Rose by the elbow and tugged her away through the kitchen, Grandma Molly sending their coats zooming into the cloak cupboard with a disappointed flick of her wand.

Rose grit her teeth; well, this was extremely bad news. Clearly Lily had been very hard at work and had managed to ensure her little titbit had not only circulated around all the cousins, but managed to reach the keen ears of her surprisingly nosy grandmother.

Ignoring the suggested lemonade – Grandma Molly tended to forget that all her grandchildren were now well over the legal age – Al poured them each a rather hefty glassful from the open bottle of wine on the counter. 

“Plan of attack?” he muttered, passing over her drink.

Rose took an immediate gulp and eyed the room warily. “Deny everything and try not to die of total humiliation.”

Rose’s fears about the reach of Lily’s gossip were almost instantly confirmed as she cautiously approached the living room where her various Uncles and Aunts were milling. Several conversations seemed to drift off mid-sentence, various expectant faces looking up at her from the sofa and her Uncle George actually threw her a wink. 

Her mum, in particular, looked very keen on having words with her, and so she quickly diverted down the hallway and towards the snug. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when the only occupants didn’t even look up from their game of Wizard’s chess. Maybe there were _some_ people in this family who had the good sense not to listen to idle gossip.

Dominique paused, fingers on her rook, about to take out Fred’s last remaining pawn, and glanced up at Rose hovering in the doorway.

“Heard you’re banging Malfoy.”

If Lily was the epitome of hyperbole, Dominique had aggressive candour down to a fine art.

Rose’s face darkened and she slung herself down into the armchair across from them. “S’not true.”

“Riiiight,” Dominique eyed her with ill-disguised disbelief.

“Why does no one in this family seem to believe a word I say?” Rose muttered crossly, slurping at her wine and sulking.

Sat open-legged on a battered leather pouffe, Fred chuckled and threw her a wry grin. “It’s not exactly something I’d admit to, if it was me.” He sent his bishop after Dominique’s offending rook.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Well, I imagine there’d be an awful lot more to discuss if it were _you_ bonking Malfoy.”

Dominique’s eyebrows shot up. “So, you _do _admit it?”

“No!” she cried. “I, Rose Nymphadora Weasley, am categorically _not _sleeping with Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!”

Fred grimaced. “Bit of a mouthful, the two of you together, innit?”

“And ’course you’re not,” Dom shook her head and smirked in a way that suggested she wasn’t remotely convinced. “Check,” she sent her knight charging forward and pulled a face at Fred.

Rose glowered but said nothing. She knew better than to trifle with these two, especially when they had their war faces on for Wizard’s Chess.

Born a mere two months apart, Dominique and Fred had always been a joint force to be reckoned with. Frequently mistaken for twins due to their heights and similar colouring – and the fact that they were almost always together causing some sort of trouble – Uncle Bill liked to remark that they should have named her Georgina. A joke which never failed to make Grandma Molly rather misty eyed.

“So, what did he do then?” muttered Fred, peering over his few remaining pieces as he gingerly edged his King away from Dom’s attacking forces. “Flash you one of those _‘panty-dropping_’ smirks Lily’s always going on about?”

Rose wrinkled her nose at the sentiment. “That is a revolting thought. And he didn’t do any such thing, because it didn’t happen.”

“Let me guess,” Dom mused, essentially ignoring Rose, her eyes never leaving her game. “He finally admitted that all the name-calling and hair-pulling these last ten years had been his thinly veiled attempts to get your attention, and that he was utterly, madly, deeply in love with you and always had been?”

Rose balked at the idea. There was something about the conviction with which Dominique had stated her theory that made her feel a little uneasy.

“He’s never physically pulled my hair, you know,” she muttered weakly, although now that she thought about it that probably wasn’t even true. Scorpius was always reaching for her curls to annoy her. Patronisingly patting her on the head or tugging loose plaits that she’d spent the best part of an hour commandeering her wild hair into. 

Dom looked up at her and rolled her eyes. “It’s metaphorical, Rosie. Like when you call him a smarmy git and tell him to piss off, but we all know you really mean _‘come hither, wanton sex god and lets finally relieve this ridiculous sexual tension’_,” she grinned triumphantly, Fred sniggering across from her.

Rose took another healthy gulp of her wine before rising sharply from her armchair, presenting her cousins with the foulest of sneers. “You are both completely delusional, and I can see there is absolutely no point in talking to you until you’ve recovered from this psychotic break.”

That only served to make them both cackle with laughter. Rose glowered down at them both, hands on her hips. And then, just because she could, added: “Dom’s about to checkmate you in three moves, Freddie. Queen’s Knight to C5, Rook to E6 and Queen to B4. Oh, _sorry_, hope that didn’t spoil all your fun.”

And with that, she stuck her nose in the air and flounced out of the room, leaving the two cousins staring down at their board in a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

Well, she was nothing if not Ron Weasley’s daughter.

The rest of the afternoon progressed with equal amounts of torturous humiliation and frustration for Rose, as various family members tried to broach the subject of her apparent new love interest in different but equally unwelcome ways. Roxanne and Lily managed to corner Rose in the downstairs loo, demanding to know the events of Friday night in bizarrely explicit detail, and entirely ignoring Rose’s attempts at a less than R-rated explanation. Then, as they all sat down to eat, her Uncle Percy had awkwardly segued into a discussion of a recent article he had read in the _Prophet_ covering the latest acquisition of an independent potions company by the ever-growing _Malfoy Incorporate,_ and had pointedly asked Rose for her opinion. And James, ever the intellectual, had simply resorted to making childish kissy-noises whenever she walked by.

Perhaps the least appreciated of all, however, was Teddy and Vic, who sat opposite Rose at dinner, blissfully nursing the bump that was soon to produce her Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur’s first grandchild. Teddy, with half a mouthful of potato, had bluntly asked her when she envisaged having her own platinum blond-haired sproggs running around. Al had to intervene on her behalf that time – narrowly restraining Rose from firing hexes in the general vicinity of a heavily pregnant woman.

In fact, the only person who didn’t seem at all interested in hearing about her burgeoning fake-relationship with Scorpius was Rose’s dad. He kept his mouth closed and stared solemnly into his lunch whenever the topic arose. And whilst Rose was glad to have at least one person willing to keep their nose out of her imaginary business, the grumpy scowl that he sported for the remainder of the afternoon was more than a little off-putting.

In an effort to grant herself a reprieve from her well-meaning but infuriating family, Rose offered to help with the dishes as soon as everyone was finished with dessert. Painstakingly drying them _sans magic_ to prolong her respite from another round of embarrassing questions, Rose bristled when her mum appeared by her side, taking up the spare tea towel and fixing her daughter with a meaningful stare.

“You know, Rose,” Hermione Weasley studied her daughter as she carefully dried a set of wine glasses, “if there’s ever anything you want to talk to us about – your father and I, that is – we are always there for you, and we really do trust you to know what’s best for yourself.”

Rose grit her teeth in annoyance and focused on the task at hand.

“I know your father can be… a little difficult, at times,” she carried on, unperturbed, “but he’s come an awful long way since _we_ were young, and he wouldn’t ever want to interfere, it’s just that -,”

Rose set down the glass she was holding with a sigh. “Mum, please, you have nothing to worry about -,”

“And your Uncle Harry says that Scorpius is a lovely young man, if a little _verbose _at times, and so if he makes you happy -,”

“Mum, stop!” Rose hissed, throwing her tea-towel down on the kitchen table with a huff. Whilst she appreciated the sentiment, really she did, she’d had quite enough of this ridiculousness for one day. “For the last time, there is nothing going on between me and Malfoy! In fact, I happen to think he’s a prat with a vastly over-inflated sense of his own importance and stupid hair!”

Rather than the look of dawning understanding that Rose was hoping for, Hermione simply tilted her head at her daughter, sadly. “What I’m trying to say, Rose, is that we trust you to make your own decisions, I just wish you would trust _us_ enough to be open and honest about these new developments in your life.”

She stared in open bewilderment as her mum offered her one last disappointed sigh and headed back to join the rest of the family with a shake of her head. Muttering a string of very un-ladylike expletives under her breath, Rose closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. This was absurd! It was as if everyone had been drinking from the same bottle of extra-strength Gillywater! Either that or they were all part of the same giant conspiracy to send her totally bloody bonkers. Why, in Merlin’s name, didn’t anyone in her _own family_ believe her? And, even more troubling, why did everyone seem to think it was even remotely plausible that she would be interested in Scorpius? 

With a growl she snatched her coat out of the cloak cupboard and, without so much as a goodbye to her Grandma Molly, stomped her way out of the house and back towards the portkey drop-off. It wouldn’t reactivate for at least another half an hour, but she’d rather wait on her own at the bottom of the garden than spend another minute being accused of having feelings for the git of the century.

Albus appeared by her side about ten minutes later, hands still deep in his pockets, and trying very hard not to let his amused grin get the best of him.

“Well…” he muttered, after a moment, “I think that went remarkably well, all things considered.”

Rose could only roll her eyes. “Oh, shut up, Albus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: I would like to personally apologise to any Chess masters who may be reading for my absolute butchery of the beautiful game.


	3. Chapter 3

Rose wasted no time in seeking out the source of her misery come the end of her shift on Monday. She’d been in a rotten mood ever since leaving the Burrow the day before, only made worse by a particularly punishing dueling session that morning. She’d felt so out of sorts and up-skittled by the weekend’s events that she really hadn’t been focusing properly and had subsequently had her arse royally served to her in the arena by her fellow trainees.

Charlie McLaggen had even approached her after the morning’s workout to ask if everything was okay, so out of character was her piss poor performance. She’d waved him off, grimacing into her cup of coffee and winced at the thoughts of the bruises she was sure to have tomorrow.

Someone else who seemed almost as distracted as Rose was her training partner Emily Longbottom – Albus’ not-so-mysterious mystery woman from Friday night. Rose had made a point not to ask her friend about it directly, or even let on that she knew, preferring to wait for either Emily or Albus to come to her. Neither of them, however, seemed particularly inclined to, much to her chagrin. In fact, Emily had barely said two words to her all day until sidling up to her in the lunch queue and asking if Rose could cover for her so that she could sneak away early.

Rose had begrudgingly obliged, asking: “Up to anything fun?” to which Emily had brushed her off with a mention of visiting parents. But Rose couldn’t fail to spot the flush of colour that turned the tips of her friend’s ears pink and just wonder…

As soon as she and her fellow trainees were dismissed for the day, Rose made a bee line for the showers. There probably wasn’t enough hot water in the world to wash away all of her aches and frustrations, but she was determined to try. Plus, someone had caught her with an impressive slime spell earlier and there was more than a little bit left in her hair. Amidst the steam and water, she traced a finger over the blossoming red blemish on her left hip, courtesy of another well-aimed stinging hex she’d been too slow to deflect, and ground her teeth together in irritation.

Scorpius bloody Malfoy.

He might not have been the one physically aiming his wand at her, but that bruise and the many others like it to come, not to mention her splitting headache, were all his doing really. If he could have just kept away from her – or more specifically, out of her bed – then her weekend wouldn’t have been so unceremoniously ruined and her head quite so fried. In fact, she’d already decided that morning that she was putting a stop to this nonsense before it got any more out of hand. Unfortunately, that meant she’d actually have to see the git, but at least she could use the opportunity to hurl a few insults his way, which rarely failed to make her feel at least a little more cheerful.

And so, at approximately a quarter to six in the evening, Rose Weasley found herself offering a saccharin smile to the insipid witch manning the reception desk at _Malfoy Incorporate_ and asking to see the Vice Chairman of the company without further ado.

The witch looked up at her and gave her a similar, if possibly even less sincere, smile in return. “I’m sorry. Meetings with Mr Malfoy are by appointment only.”

“Oh, I have an appointment,” Rose bluffed. An appointment to kick his arse into the middle of next week, she thought tersely.

“Really?” the witch blinked back at her, stupidly. “I’m afraid I don’t see anything in his diary…”

Rose squinted at the woman’s name badge. Did it say _Cobra_? Surely not. Coco, maybe? Sweet Merlin, she rolled her eyes, it would be just like Scorpius to hire a secretary named Coco.

“Well, that’s because it’s a _private _meeting,” she offered, unconvincingly. And then a thought occurred to her. “Tell you what, Coco, why don’t you run along and let ‘Mr Malfoy’ know that his _girlfriend_ is here to see him.”

Coco looked at her oddly – whether at the notion of Malfoy having a girlfriend or because her name wasn’t actually Coco, Rose couldn’t tell – but got up from her chair nonetheless and tottered down the corridor and out of site.

Left alone for a moment, Rose took the opportunity to inspect what she could see of the offices of _Malfoy Incorporate_. Despite having the misfortune of Scorpius’ acquaintance for over a decade, she’d never actually visited him of her own free will before.

It was, rather obviously given its name, the family business – founded by Scorpius’ father and grandfather following the end of the war, and dealing exclusively in the potions industry. Although they had originally traded under a different name to avoid the inevitable stigma, they’d taken the company public after they’d turned their first few million in profit. No one could argue the Malfoys weren’t savvy businessmen, even if they didn’t like their political history.

Scorpius’ grandfather had long since passed, leaving the company under his father’s watchful eye, and Scorpius had taken his place on the board almost as soon as he had graduated. _That_ had been another black mark in Rose’s book. In her mind, anyone that was comfortable simply walking into such a lifestyle must lack any and all ambition of their own. She could even remember his response when she’d told him that to his face one day at school:

“Ambition? I’ve got cauldron’s full of the stuff, Weasley.” He’d laughed at her words, continuing to flick little paper Quaffles across the desk at Al and disrupting her homework session. “For example, this week my ambition is to try and break into the Prefect’s Bathroom and catch you starkers under all those bubbles.”

Rose had refused to speak to him for the best part of a week after that, and had never again managed to bathe in peace in that majestic tub. Prat.

Pulling her thoughts back to the present, she glanced around the reception room. More of an atrium really, she thought, with the way the light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows across one length of the room. After discovering from the Welcome Witch on the ground floor that Scorpius’ office was on the 22nd, she had taken the lift rather than the stairs, and so hadn’t really appreciated just how high up they were until now.

_Merlin_, she could see all the way to Gringott’s, she marvelled, spotting the white marble building with its glass dome against the skyline. She wondered if she could see hers and Albus’ flat from this far up – just about resisting the urge to squidge her nose against the glass to look for it.

“Miss Weasley? If you’d follow me, please.”

Rose turned to find Scorpius’ secretary had re-materialised and was blinking at her politely, waiting for her to accompany her back down the corridor. Rose fell into step behind her, taking in the dark blue of the walls, the plushness of the cream carpet beneath her feet, and the various portraits that watched on as they wound their way towards a set of large mahogany doors, adorned with a brass plate that bore Scorpius’ name.

The door was ajar and the receptionist ushered her inside. Rose found she had to immediately roll her eyes at the sight of Malfoy, leaning back in his overstuffed leather chair, feet up on the desk, and looking ridiculously pompous, even for him.

“Rosie! To what do I owe the pleasure?” he was grinning at her rather disconcertingly, as though he’d somehow been expecting her. “Thank you, Cora, that will be all for today,” he added with a nod to the young witch beside her.

Rose blinked – _Cora_. A marginal improvement on Coco, she supposed – and waited for the door to click shut behind her. 

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” she started on him, testily. 

“Yes,” he conceded, tipping himself so far back in that ridiculous chair that she was both surprised and disappointed that he didn’t topple over. “But then you also said that there was no such thing as _‘us’ _and yet here you are calling yourself my girlfriend, so you’re clearly an unreliable witness.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. She was in absolutely no mood for any of his games, not after the weekend she’d just had.

“Are you aware that you’ve ruined my life?” she glowered at him, furiously, arms folding of their own accord.

Scorpius simply chuckled, “Al mentioned you’d had a fun time at your family lunch. Should I be expecting a formal invitation as your plus one, next time?”

Rose’s cheeks immediately coloured with rage and humiliation, as she remembered her own grandma’s eerily similar suggestion. Her scowl darkened. 

“I imagine your father was particularly delighted at the news,” he continued goading her from his throne of an office chair. “You know, I’ve always thought he had something of a soft spot for me. I’d be quite the catch as a potential son-in-law -,”

“For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy! If it wasn’t for the fact that I’d lose my job and possibly end up in Azkaban, I would have absolutely no qualms with _Avada-ing_ you right where you sat!”

That gave him pause for thought. “_Possibly _go to the Azkaban?”

She grimaced, darkly. “I’m fairly sure the Wizengamot could be persuaded I was performing a public service.”

He grinned again and jumped up from his seat, coming around to perch on the edge of the desk just in front of her. Rose watched him with wary eyes, slightly startled to notice he was wearing all muggle business attire – dark grey suit trousers and a white oxford with a blue wool tie. She’d always imagined he and his father paraded around their evil headquarters with cloaks billowing at their ankles. She blinked quickly, trying not to formally acknowledge the thought that it was actually a very nice suit and he looked… not entirely horrible in it.

“Oh, come on, Weasley,” he grinned at her, light grey eyes mirthful, “it’s hardly my fault that your cousin got the wrong end of the stick is it? Or that she just so happens to be the biggest blabber-mouth in the whole of the wizarding world.”

She gawped at him. “Are you joking? If you hadn’t _forced _your way into my bedroom -,”

“We’ve been through this,” he rolled his eyes, “there was simply nowhere else for me to go.”

“And then paraded around in your underwear -,”

“You were also in your knickers, as I recall,” he quirked a suggestive eyebrow that brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks.

“Not to mention,” Rose jabbed a finger at him, “that when directly asked to set the record straight, instead you decided to declare – and I quote – it had been the _‘best night of your life’_!”

Scorpius shrugged, cheerfully. “And it was! I’d had a great night out with my best mate, who’d finally scored with the girl of his adolescent wet dreams, thanks in no small part to my finely tuned skills as a wingman, and then I got to sleep in a delightfully comfy, ginormous bed. Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask you where you got it. I’m in the market myself, what with the new flat and -,”

“Malfoy!” she cut him off.

He blinked up at her, mock affronted. “Merlin, Weasley. Is it really always necessary to shout my last name like that? I am right here.”

Rose let out an odd sort of high-pitched growl and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, rubbing her temples as she began to pace back and forth across the plush carpet. Scorpius simply watched her in amusement, still propped against his desk, and leant back on his palms.

“Oh, _Gods_,” she moaned to herself. “I’m going to end up in jail. In actual bloody _Azkaban_. And all because of Malfoy. Because I had to murder him. I bet I get caught disposing of the body…”

“Talking to yourself again, I see. Perhaps you have Syphilis, I’ve heard that rots the brain eventually. That one doesn’t run in my family though,” he frowned thoughtfully, adding: “as far as I’m aware.”

Rose was ignoring him but had momentarily stopped her pacing, frowning into the middle distance as if something had only just dawned on her in that instant.

“So, you were there when Albus… well, when he… what I mean to say is, when he and Emily... er?” She realised she didn’t even know how to describe the situation, given how none of the parties involved had actually deigned to talk to her about it.

“Well, of course I was there,” Scorpius scoffed, pulling loose the Windsor knot of his tie and sliding it free of his collar. “Frankly, I very much doubt he could have pulled it off without me. He might be a handsome bugger with a professional Quidditch career up his sleeve but he couldn’t even talk a troll into bed.”

Rose simply grimaced. “I simply cannot tell you how little I care to hear about my cousin’s pulling game, but thank you for that horrifying insight.”

Scorpius snorted. “You asked.”

“I really don’t think I did,” she muttered, eyes momentarily drawn to his fingers working open the top few buttons of his shirt. A sudden intrusive image of a practically naked Scorpius – in grey boxer briefs, spread across her bedsheets – reared into her head, and she felt her cheeks grow uncomfortably hot.

She cleared her throat. “So, how exactly _did _it happen then?”

He raised a slim eyebrow at her, grin widening. “I didn’t have you down as such a gossip, Weasley.”

Rose rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored him. “It’s just, I know Al. And I know Emily. And the two of them getting together, after all this time, on a night out in a _bar_…,” she shook her head, “well, it just seems impossible!”

Scorpius simply chuckled. “There is no point using the word ‘impossible’ to describe something that has clearly already happened.”

Rose huffed at him, petulantly. He was doing the same thing that Albus always did – giving vague, non-committal replies so as to avoid getting to the root of the matter. She called it one of their ‘Slytherin sneaks’. Luckily, she had a countermove: her graceless Gryffindor bluntness.

“Why are you avoiding the question?”

“Remind me, which question would that be again?”

Rose narrowed her eyes and stepped towards him in a manner that she liked to imagine might seem in some way threatening. “How did my clueless cousin manage to persuade the girl that’s been out of his league ever since the league-tables began to spend the night with him?”

She could just make out the faint beginnings of a smirk that he swallowed almost as quickly. He pushed himself up from his perch on the desk, using his natural height advantage to look down his nose at her, and folded his arms. He did ‘intimidation’ much better than she, it seemed.

“Don’t you think a better question might be: why you felt the need to come to my office this evening and yell at me? I’d have thought this was the last place you’d want to be seen, given the rumours.”

Rose hadn’t actually thought of that and suddenly regretted not coming here under the cover of darkness. “Well,” she frowned, cross and distracted, “_obviously _I’m here because you need to do something about that! I won’t have another person think there is anything between us but open hostility.”

“And, what exactly would you like me to do?” That smirk finally made its appearance. “Should I place a notice in tomorrow’s papers, perhaps? ‘To whom it may concern: I am not shagging Rose Weasley. Yours sincerely, Scorpius Malfoy’.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It needs a little fine-tuning, but it’s a start.”

“And would likely give my mother a heart attack. Any other ideas?”

Rose threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t care what you do, Malfoy, just make it go away! And you can start by correcting each and every member of my family -,”

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, ludicrously. “Why, in the name of Merlin’s ball-sack, would I willingly venture into the lion’s den, after the treatment you received at the very same hands?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” she smirked, unkindly.

“I prefer to think of it as having healthy self-preservation instincts.”

“Just fix it, Scorpius,” she growled through gritted teeth, “or I will come here and yell at you every single night for the rest of our miserable lives.”

He cocked his head to one side, playfully. “Rather seems like you just want an excuse to keep seeing me.”

“Oh, for goodness sake -,”

“You could just ask me on a date, you know? I mean, if everyone thinks we’re already screwing each other senseless, might as well just cut our losses now.” 

Rose glared up at him. _Merlin_, how she wanted to hex that stupid grin right off his face. Those playful grey eyes fixed on her steely blues. She could feel her pulse starting to race and trip erratically in her rising fury. How did the git always manage to get under her skin so easily?

It took every ounce of restraint she possessed not to hurl another insult – or maybe a curse or two – and instead, turn her back on him as she marched for the door.

“I’m warning you, Malfoy,” she paused, fist gripping the door handle, and tried to keep her voice as calm and even and as terrifying as possible. “Kill the rumours, or I kill you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, Rose found herself growing increasingly uneasy about her visit to _Malfoy Incorporate_. She had gone there as a knee-jerk response to her anger over the weekend’s events and, in retrospect, she worried she’d been a little hasty. She wasn’t particularly known for her patience (a trait she was frequently told she’d inherited from her dad) and she’d wanted to feel in control of a situation that felt like it was starting to spiral (a trait she was frequently told she’d inherited from her mum).

All her visit had resulted in, however, was an impromptu slanging match. Hardly the productive solution she’d hoped for. And if she knew Scorpius – and after roughly fifteen years she thought she had a fairly good grasp of his _many_ foibles – such an encounter as they’d had on Monday evening might just be taken the wrong way.

Specifically, she was very concerned that he might see it as a challenge. And not, as was intended, a stark warning of the painful retribution she would be enacting if this nonsense went any further.

Rose tried her best to put the whole thing out of her mind as the days rolled on, although she couldn’t stop herself having a quick scan of each morning’s papers, just in case Scorpius had followed through with his ridiculous suggestion of placing an announcement. Needless to say, the most interesting thing she came upon was an article about match fixing in the Bulgarian Quidditch leagues and a coupon for ten percent off Madam Malkin’s new maternity range, which she’d pocketed for Victoire.

An unexpected distraction arrived on Thursday afternoon just as her shift was ending. They’d been practicing interrogation techniques opposite a partner and, since Emily was now outright avoiding her, Rose had been very glad when Charlie McLaggen had appeared beside her and suggested they pair up. She was even more glad – if a little surprised – when after three hours spent coaxing imaginary confessions from one another, Charlie had hung back and asked if she fancied meeting him for a drink the following evening.

Rose had eagerly agreed. Charlie was funny and nice, but more than that she was simply thrilled at the idea of spending a few hours with a man who _didn’t _make her feel constantly irritated and on edge. She might even flirt with him a bit, she grinned happily, practically skipping out of the shower block.

The flat had been notably lacking one of its occupants most evenings that week. This, in itself, was not unusual. Albus often trained or played away with the Falcons and Rose was quite used to having the place all to herself for weekends or days at a time. On this occasion, however, she happened to know that Al had no matches or training sessions scheduled until early next week, and so his absence was a little perplexing. Though it did mean that their fridge was a lot more well-stocked than usual and nobody complained when she left her underwear out to dry in the living room.

Rose had even peeked into his bedroom before work early one morning and found the bed unslept in. Highly suspicious.

She put all of these thoughts far out of her mind, though, as Friday evening and her date with Charlie rolled around. He’d arranged to meet her outside the nearest Floo station to Primrose Hill; he knew a muggle bar not far from the park, apparently.

Given the warm weather, Rose had pulled a summery blue dress from her wardrobe and found herself, at half past seven, stood outside the unassuming artisan bakery in Primrose Hill, tugging nervously on the short hem of her outfit. When she was still there alone almost twenty minutes later, she started to get a little concerned. She’d checked with the woman behind the bread counter – this was definitely the nearest Floo point to the park. The evening was starting to get a little cooler and she slipped on her denim jacket, glancing at her watch with a frown. She’d give her date until eight, at least.

But eight came and went, and then half past eight. The woman inside the shop kept offering her sympathetic, pitying looks. Rose was practically vibrating with fury by now. She could hardly believe it. Never before in her life had she been stood up! And by Charlie bloody McLaggen! She’d only agreed to go out with him because she had nothing better to do.

Not one to slip away quietly to wallow in self-pity, Rose marched down the nearest secluded alleyway. It was really rather stupid, she thought, to mortally offend a girl who knew where you lived. In fact, as soon as she had calmed down enough to apparate, she was standing in front of what she knew to be Charlie’s front door. (She wasn’t a total creep; he’d hosted a Christmas party for the trainee Aurors last year and Rose could remember the address with startling clarity. White-hot rage really did tend to focus the mind.)

“Rose!” Charlie stared down in surprise at the fiery red head, her fist still raised from hammering on the knocker.

“Oh good,” she grimaced up at him, darkly, “you do still remember my name then? Only you seemed to have forgotten I existed entirely earlier this evening.”

“I-, I don’t-… Rose, what on Earth are you doing here?”

“Tell me, McLaggen, do you make a habit of asking women out, only to not turn up and make them look like idiots? Is that something that’s _fun _for you?”

He blinked at her, stupidly. “No…No I don’t. But I also don’t make a habit of going on dates with girls that already have a boyfriend.”

It was her turn to look stupid. “I beg your pardon?”

He folded his arms, looking down at her, coolly, “My flatmate’s girlfriend, Cora, works for the Malfoys. When I told her who I was meeting this evening she said she’d seen you at the office and that you were dating her boss. And frankly, Rose, I really didn’t have you down as the type of girl to two-time a bloke. Pretty shitty of you, if you ask me.”

Rose could feel all the blood instantly rushing to her head. This was a joke. This was an actual living nightmare.

“Although, I’ve got to say it, I don’t know what you see in him,” Charlie continued, clearly over the shock of being accosted on his own doorstep and fully on his soap-box. “You and Malfoy used to hate each other in school, and he’s still just as much of a git by all accounts. You could do a lot better.”

Spluttering for the right words, she held up a hand, “Charlie, wait, you’ve got this all wrong -,”

“Sorry, Rose, but I’m not about to step on another bloke’s toes. But listen, if things don’t work out with Scorpius, let me know. Maybe we could try this again some time.”

Rose gawped as the door swung shut in her face.

What in the name of Helga’s saggy tits had just happened? If she wasn’t very much mistaken, Scorpius Malfoy had just cost her a date. Not to mention another large chunk of her dignity.

Stumbling away from Charlie’s door and down the few steps to the pavement, she glanced around in bewilderment, as if checking to see if anyone had just witnessed her untimely death through social humiliation. With a stab of panic, she realised that this wretched rumour had now escaped the confines of her family circle. The word was out, and the word was that she was dating Malfoy.

Swallowing the bile that threatened to rise up her throat at the very notion, Rose quickly assessed her options. She was aware that her temper was short and her fury threatening to overwhelm her. She needed to yell at someone, and there was one stand-out candidate that deserved to be on the receiving end of _that_ verbal hailstorm. Glancing at her watch, she frowned – almost nine o’clock – it seemed unlikely he’d still be working at this hour but she had no idea where his new flat was, and she remembered Albus’ eye-roll inducing stories about post-work drinks parties at the office which gave her hope she might still find him there, in one state or another.

She made her way to _Malfoy Incorporate _quickly enough, re-tracing her steps from earlier in the week as she headed up to the 22nd floor. There was no one at the reception desk to welcome her this time, but it seemed she was in luck – a soft glow from the end of the dark corridor told her that Malfoy was still here.

Stomping her way into his office, Rose almost did a double take when, rather than the raucous boozing surrounded by scantily clad secretaries that she’d been imagining, she found Scorpius bent over a pile of parchment, looking bleary-eyed and exhausted beneath the soft light of his desk lamp.

On seeing her standing in his doorway, however, a large grin erupted across his tired features. “Déjà vu. Couldn’t keep away after all, I see.”

Still startled at finding him alone, Rose scowled incredulously. “What on Earth are you doing? Are you actually _working_?”

Scorpius raised a pale eyebrow, “It may surprise you to know, Weasley, but a multi-million galleon company doesn’t tend to just run itself.” He dropped his quill back into the ink-pot with a definitive splash.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but I didn’t think _you_ actually did any real work. Al told me you just take clients out for drinks and look pretty in front of the camera.”

Despite the venom in her voice, Scorpius laughed. For the first time, Rose noticed the creases at the corner of his eyes as a genuine smile lit up his face. And then immediately felt weird for noticing such a thing at all.

“Of course he did,” he was still chuckling, “and what would lead you to believe that Al has the faintest idea about how to run a business? The man chases balls around a field for a living, for Merlin’s sake.”

Rose huffed and folded her arms, suddenly feeling rather silly. For some reason, she found she didn’t want to acknowledge that Malfoy might actually be a useful, fully functioning member of working society. It didn’t sit right with her image of him as a useless, smirking toad.

Luckily, she was immediately re-validated when he fixed her with one of his trademark facial expressions, adding, “Though it is interesting to know you think I’m pretty.”

And the world righted itself once again.

Ignoring him, she stomped around the desk to stand over his chair, jabbing an accusatory finger into his shirt-clad chest. “You need to do something about this rumour about us, _now_!”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, turning away to shuffle the stack of parchment in front of him. “Not this again -,”

“Yes, this again!” she hissed, furiously. “I was meant to go on a date this evening, but the git stood me up because he thought that we were together! Don’t you see how ridiculous this is getting?”

Face suddenly darkening into a scowl, Scorpius glanced up at her. “Who were you going on a date with?”

“Why does that matter?” she frowned.

He could only offer her a noncommittal shrug in response, not quite able to meet her eye. “No reason. Well, how did they hear about it?”

“Your bloody receptionist! Coco, or Cora, whatever her name is. She told him I was your girlfriend!”

There was a silent beat, and then Scorpius’ face immediately broke out into an almighty grin. “I see,” he chuckled, darkly. “And I wonder who might’ve given her that impression?”

Rose really didn’t like the look he was now giving her. “Well, _you_, obviously!”

“Ah, ah ah,” he shook his head, that shit-eating grin widening and making Rose’s wagging finger waiver. “I seem to recall somebody turning up here, uninvited, and introducing herself as my girlfriend. Sound familiar?”

Rose’s glare turned into a look of momentary confusion before, as the memory of earlier that week came flooding back to her, she felt herself becoming slack jawed. In that moment, the sense of ice-cold dread pooling in the pit of her stomach told her everything she needed to know. That he was absolutely correct and that she was an idiot.

_Gods_, she didn’t think she’d ever had a more horrifying realisation. 

She was the one who had let this silly misunderstanding out into the big wide world. She was the one who had spread her own ridiculous rumour. And now Malfoy was outright laughing at her, revelling in her misery and embarrassment. Merlin, she was mortified.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” she whispered, more to herself than anything, turning to lean against the edge of his desk for support. How could she have been so stupid? The basic rules of creating an alias in Auror training: keep it simple, don’t connect yourself to anyone, and make sure it won’t come back to bite you on the arse later. Apparently, pretending to be Scorpius Malfoy’s girlfriend – even sarcastically – did not fulfil these criteria.

“Don’t worry, Rosie,” he tipped himself back in his chair, glee evident, “if anything, you should be flattered she actually believed you. You wouldn’t believe how many strange women turn up here claiming to be my significant other.”

Strangely, that didn’t make her feel any better. Letting out a groan at her own foolishness, she let her mop of auburn curls flop into her hands.

“I reckon you could use a drink,” Scorpius muttered, barely managing to swallow his laughter.

Rising from his desk, he strolled over to a corner cabinet, pulling out a bottle of something toxic and two crystal cut glasses. With a cursory flick of his wand, the various scrolls of parchment he’d been working on arranged themselves into a neat pile, clearing space for him to pour a healthy measure of clear liquid into each glass. 

Scorpius watched her give the proffered drink an experimental sniff and arched a slim eyebrow. “It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing you’d done to me this week,” she grumbled, taking a sip begrudgingly. She almost spat it back out the moment the burning liquid hit her tongue. “What in Merlin’s name _is _that?!”

Scorpius sniggered at her reaction, taking a leisurely gulp of the strong liquor as he sank back into his chair. “Vodka. Al’s teammate, Ivanov, got me into the stuff. I’ll admit it’s a bit of an acquired taste.”

Rose wrinkled her nose and took another, much smaller, sip. She was almost certain she was drinking a measure of paint stripper but anything that could take the edge off her shit-show of an evening was more than welcome at this point.

“So,” Scorpius fixed her with an interested stare, “tell me more about this _date _you were meant to go on.”

Rose practically snorted into her glass. “And why on Earth would I want to do that?”

“Thought you might need a friendly ear,” he shrugged, grinning in a way that looked anything but friendly. “Come on, at least tell me who would be stupid enough to voluntarily miss out on an evening with _the _Rose Weasley.”

Rose felt spots of heat form at her cheeks. Whether at the memory of waiting alone on a pavement in the middle of Muggle London or something else entirely, she wasn’t too sure. She cleared her throat, taking a sudden interest in the office carpet.

“Oh, go on,” he nudged her foot with his, making her shift awkwardly on her desk perch, “if I don’t know the git’s name, how can I be expected to defend your honour?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, please! You’re just nosy! Besides, _if _I needed someone to ‘defend my honour’ – and that’s a big if, considering I’m the one pursuing a career in active combat – you would be the absolute last person I would turn to.”

Scorpius slapped a palm to his chest, looking wounded. “Well, how very insulting. Made you laugh though.”

Rose rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny the reluctant grin she was now sporting. “You’re an idiot, Malfoy.”

“Not as big of an idiot as whoever stood you up this evening,” he muttered over the rim of his glass.

She sighed, taking another sip of her drink. Which, incidentally, was starting to taste less like paint stripper and more like her new favourite beverage. “McLaggen,” she muttered. “It was Charlie git-face McLaggen.”

Scorpius had the decency not to say anything for a total of half a second. Then he burst out laughing. “McLaggen?! Merlin, Weasley, I thought you had some standards!”

“Excuse me?”

“The man is a complete arse! Not to mention he’s been leaching after you since third year at school. Sweet Circe, the amount of times Al and I had to scare him off before he could manage to ask you out, skulking around in the hallways like the creep that he is!”

Rose gawked at him. “You two did what?!”

“Never mind that,” he waved her off, “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Honestly, you could do so much better than him.”

“Funny, he had very similar things to say about you,” she griped, knocking back the rest of her drink in one bitter gulp.

Scorpius eyed her thoughtfully. “If you’re going to drink like that, you’ll need something to line your stomach. There’s a muggle place just down the-,”

“I’m not going out for dinner with you!” she cried, incredulously.

“Why not?”

“Because, in case you’d forgotten, I think you’re despicable! Besides, I’m not even hungry,” she stuck her nose in the air.

Whilst she may have been trying to forget her doomed date and the missed opportunity for food, her stomach certainly hadn’t and chose that exact moment to let out a loud and desperate rumble. She blushed. Scorpius raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I think I’ve done quite enough damage to my own reputation without being spotted in a restaurant with you,” she tried to reason with him but Scorpius was already reaching for his coat. 

“First of all, it’s not a restaurant, it’s a fish and chip shop. Which just so happens to be next to a bar with plenty more of this stuff on its shelves,” he drained the rest of his glass and grabbed her hand in his. “Second of all, I’m fairly certain it’s not a crime to steal away a woman to have dinner with you.”

And with that, he took off, pulling her with him out of the office before she had chance to protest. Rose cried out and dragged her heels but allowed him to heave her along behind him and back along the corridor all the same.

“This is actually called abduction, Malfoy, and you have a concerningly loose grasp of the law,” she grumbled as he bundled her into the lift. Her stomach growled appreciatively at this new change of plans and Scorpius smirked down at her, triumphantly.

Well, Rose grimaced, it looked like she’d be going on a date of sorts this evening, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Staring up at fluorescent lit menu boards, glinting with the promise of fried fish and greasy chips, Rose was almost ready to admit to Scorpius that this might have actually been a good idea.

The ‘little muggle place around the corner’ was indeed a fish and chip shop, tucked neatly between an outdated hairdressers and a grimy dive bar that also looked like it had seen much better days. Rose had marvelled at how at ease Scorpius looked, strolling in to the fast food shop as if he went there every week – which, when the lady behind the counter greeted him by name, she realised he probably did. Rose had hung back, in part fascinated by Scorpius’ ‘every-man’ alter-ago, and part afraid that if it were left up to her and her whining stomach to order for them, they’d be getting three of everything on the menu and then some.

“Come on, Weasley,” Scorpius grinned as he sailed passed her, arms laden with their newspaper wrapped dinner, “I’ve got us the best table in the place.”

Rose followed him eagerly, her nose leading the way as the smell of salt and vinegar doused chips had her almost instantly salivating. The ‘best table’ turned out to be a low brick wall immediately outside the shop front. Scorpius had managed to perch himself there almost gracefully, his long legs stretching out into the road. Rose practically collapsed onto the cold, hard surface beside him and reached hungrily for one of the parcels of pure salty joy.

“Wait!” Scorpius instructed, just as she was about to plunge her fingers into her dinner. Rose scowled – by Gods, if he was about to pull something all Malfoy-ey and deprive her of this delectable smelling supper, she was going to bring about the end of his days – relaxing as he pulled out two tiny wooden forks from amongst the newspaper wrappings. “These are the best part!” he grinned. “Nothing like eating with humourously small utensils to make a man feel like a giant of industry.”

Rose laughed, actually _laughed, _and not in a mean-spirited way, but didn’t give herself any time to dwell on it before snatching one of the little forks from him and diving into her dinner. Approximately ten minutes later when Rose finally came up for air, her once empty stomach now groaning in contentment, she began to realise the ridiculousness of the situation at hand.

A mere few hours ago she had been ready to curse the living daylights out of the man now sat beside her. She’d been stood up and humiliated – although she now had to concede that was perhaps more her own fault than his – and desperately keen to distance herself from Scorpius Malfoy both figuratively and literally. Now, it seemed, she was voluntarily spending time alone with the prat. The sheer stupidity of it all made her chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Scorpius muttered, spearing another chip with his prized wooden fork.

Rose shrugged, gesturing lamely between the two of them. “Just… this. You, me, alone, _not_ yelling at each other.”

Scorpius nodded thoughtfully. “As I recall, of the two of us, you generally have the monopoly on yelling.”

She rolled her eyes. “As opposed to your snarky, under handed comments, you mean?”

“Well, we can’t both resort to shouting, can we? Somebody has to bring a little class to proceedings.”

“Oi -,” Rose turned on him, hackles raised, but spotted the mirth in his silver-grey stare and caught herself just in time. “Yes,” she muttered sardonically, “thank goodness you’re there to keep a sense of decorum in such trying times.”

“My thoughts precisely,” he grinned, bringing that lively gaze to meet hers. Rose felt her lips twitch till they were mirroring his and tucked her hair behind her ear to protect it from the evening’s breeze. “You know,” he muttered after a moment, “I’m beginning to worry I may be in need of a new wingman rather soon. Keep this up and I might even consider tonight an audition.”

That made Rose belly laugh, loudly. Shoulders shaking, she tipped her head back, copper curls rolling over her shoulder and giving Scorpius an unrivalled view of the freckle-marked curve of her neck. “And what on Earth would make you think I’d be even remotely interested in the role?” she continued to giggle.

Scorpius tore his eyes away from her just in time, choosing instead to deliver a mock-glare in her general direction. “I’ll have you know that it’s an extremely coveted position, Weasley! Hanging out with yours truly can open some very interesting doors for someone.”

“Yes,” Rose mused, “to the very finest strip clubs and gambling rings in town, I bet.”

“Not to mention the best fish and chip shops,” he added, taking another bite and grinning at her, wolfishly.

Rose shook her head but couldn’t seem to shake her own smile. “And why, exactly, do you find yourself in need of a new partner in crime? Has Albus finally seen sense and renounced the devil?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t know,” Scorpius shook his head, chewing thoughtfully on his dinner as he watched an empty black cab pass by over the cobbles. “Haven’t seen him in over a week. I think it might be the longest we’ve ever spent apart since first year at school.”

“My heart bleeds for the star-crossed lovers,” she rolled her eyes. And then a thought occurred to her. “Come to think of it,” she added, “I haven’t seen him either. _And_ I’m fairly sure he’s not actually been at the flat this week. At least, not long enough to make a mess, and that’s usually only five minutes in Al’s case.”

Scorpius frowned. “But he’s not away with the Falcons until next Wednesday.”

“Exactly,” Rose frowned, choosing to ignore how <strike>adorable</strike> _pathetic_ it was that the boys knew each other’s schedules. “You don’t think… I mean, surely, he wouldn’t be staying with Emily, would he? After all, they’ve only… _you know, _once. You don’t practically move in together after just one time.”

Scorpius appeared to give this a great deal of consideration for a moment. “Actually, I’m starting to wonder whether we’ve had the wool pulled over our eyes a bit, there.”

“Oh?” Rose blinked.

“Yes, I’m rather beginning to think that wasn’t the first time they’d _lain together_, as it were.”

“Merlin, Malfoy!” Rose half gagged, half laughed. “That’s so much worse than just saying they shagged!”

He scowled at her, annoyed. “You’re the one that can’t seem to bring yourself to say it, you giant prude!”

“That’s because Al’s my cousin, it’s gross for _me _to say it!”

Scorpius shook his head in exasperation. Rose pulled a face and tried not to think about Albus putting the moves on her best friend. “What makes you say that, anyway?” she asked at last, her curiosity overcoming her disgust.

Scorpius merely shrugged. “Just a feeling. Al’s been a bit shifty about it, ever since last weekend. Normally the man sings like a soprano in Flitwick’s frog choir after a successful shag. And something you said -,”

“Me?” Rose started in surprise. She wasn’t aware that Malfoy actually listened when she talked, never mind gave her words any genuine consideration.

“Indeed,” he mused, humour flitting across his face at her reaction. “About the two of them getting together in a bar after all that time. You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. If it were going to happen between those two – and we know it has – I suspect it would take something much more significant than a few bottles of firewhiskey,” he grazed his chin, thoughtfully. “In fact, I think we may have missed the grand gesture or the big heart-to-heart, or whatever it is you’re meant to do to win over the girl of your dreams.”

Rose stared at him for a moment and found she had to actively remind herself to close her mouth. He, she noticed, was avidly _not _looking at her. In fact, he seemed to be fixated on an unassuming spot on the opposite pavement. She turned to stare at it too, for lack of anywhere else to look.

Scorpius Malfoy. Morning coffee maker, hard-working businessman, fish and chip shop frequenter and hopeless romantic? Rose felt as if she’d entered the Twilight Zone this last week. It was rather disconcerting to keep discovering new things about a person you thought you’d had pinned down to a tee for the last fifteen years. 

Lost in her own thoughts, Rose felt the evening chill creeping in through her denim jacket and gave a little shiver. Scorpius, his gaze finally drawn from that same square foot of tarmac, brusquely asked, “Cold?”

Rose stared at him, eyebrows shooting skyward. “Sweet Helga, you’re not going to try and give me your coat, are you?” It was one thing to find she was able to spend time alone with the man without actively wanting to commit murder-suicide, quite another to be able to tolerate chivalry from him.

Scorpius snorted his amusement, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Weasley.” Then wrapped his tailored wool coat tightly around himself and fixed her with a warm, smug grin.

Rose eyed him jealously, feeling another little shiver run through her. “I wouldn’t mind fighting you for it, though?” she offered, hopefully.

Chuckling, Scorpius set the remnants of his dinner aside and casually licked his lips. To her unending surprise, Rose felt a not-unpleasant flutter just below her navel, her eyes following the sweep of his tongue into the crook of his smile. She turned away so quickly she almost snapped a tendon in her neck, her cheeks feeling instantly hot. What in the name of Merlin’s arse was that all about? This evening was getting weirder and weirder.

“Come on.” She turned back warily to find him on his feet, holding his hand out toward her. “I’ve got a better idea.”

Two minutes later and they were stood inside the grimy dive bar that somehow, impossibly, actually looked worse on the inside. Flaking, dark grey paint covered the walls and ceiling, with the odd, outdated band poster pinned up haphazardly around the room. None of the furniture seemed to match and a scrawled ‘Out of Order’ sign hung ominously over the fire exit. Rose followed Malfoy to the bar, her feet sticking to the floor as if they or it were covered in spellotape, and she wrinkled her nose at the stale smell of spilt beer and peanuts.

“I bet you bring all the ladies here,” Rose muttered under her breath.

Scorpius caught her expression and grinned. “Only the extra special ones. Why don’t you find us a table and I’ll get us a drink?”

Rose turned to face the room and instantly arched an eyebrow. There certainly wouldn’t be any difficulty in finding them a seat, it seemed, given how they were the only patrons in the entire place. She chose a booth halfway along the far wall, hidden from view from both the bar and the front door – just so that they wouldn’t be spotted together and potentially add to the rumours, she reasoned, ignoring the fact that they’d just been happily sat together on the street for the best part of an hour, in full view of anyone and everyone who happened to pass by.

From where she sat, she could just make out Scorpius’ profile as he chatted amicably with the barman and ordered their drinks. She watched the barman reach for a bottle of the same clear liquid Scorpius had served her in his office. Yet more vodka was in her immediate future, it seemed.

Perhaps foolishly, she let her mind linger for a moment on that strange little stomach flip she’d felt outside. Glancing up at Scorpius again, she took in the strong line of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw, watching him grin and laugh at some shared joke with the bartender. His hair was less perfectly coiffed than usual with a few blond strands escaping to fall across his face – the end of a long, trying week perhaps – and looked very much like something she could imagine someone might like to run their fingers through.

Not her though. Definitely not her.

She could admit that Scorpius was attractive. It would be stupid not to, really. Half the girls at school had been in love with him (the other half with Albus), and she highly doubted that had changed since he’d matured, grown some designer stubble and become generally more accomplished. Rose knew he was handsome; he just wasn’t her type. Plus, there was also the obstacle of his horrendous personality to contend with. Although, hadn’t she just been ruminating on how surprisingly little she actually seemed to know about him?

Her mouth twisting into an unhappy line, she glanced up to find Scorpius heading towards her with two smudged glasses and a full bottle in hand. He met her gaze and grinned, those silver-grey eyes looking especially playful. Rose felt her stomach flip again and something jolt down towards her centre. _Not your type, my arse_, came an unhelpful little voice from some dark, dark recess of her mind. 

Suddenly not quite able to meet his eye, Rose practically snatched the bottle from him as he slid himself into the booth. Scorpius watched, eyebrow arched, as she sloshed an unnecessarily large amount of vodka into her glass, an almost equal amount ending up on the table. She appeared unusually anxious, her brow furrowed and mouth grimacing.

“Are you having a stroke?” he asked, calmly, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hopefully,” Rose muttered, gulping down a great mouthful with a wince.

Chuckling quietly, Scorpius poured a more measured drink for himself and leant back against the booth. He eyed her carefully. “So… McLaggen, ey?”

Rose felt the colour immediately flood her cheeks and tried her best to roll her eyes. “Oh, Merlin, do we have to go through that again? It was painful enough the first time.”

Scorpius smirked over the rim of his glass. “I’m just interested. I mean, what was it, exactly, that you were first drawn to about the biggest prat in the inner London boroughs?” 

Rose couldn’t help but snort into her drink, grin forming at the corners of her mouth. When she thought about it, which she really hoped she never had to again, agreeing to go out with Charlie had been a ludicrous decision. She had no romantic interest in him, didn’t even find him particularly attractive, and would now have to awkwardly avoid him every day at work. Not one of her finer choices.

She took another sip of her drink and sighed, “I suppose I was just in need of a distraction, and sort of… frustrated.”

Rose instantly knew she’d said the wrong thing when she caught sight of Malfoy’s eyebrows making a break for his hairline.

“’_Frustrated’_?! God Godric, Weasley, there must have been better candidates to help you out in that department, surely? I mean, not to blow my own trumpet, so to speak, but I’m sure you know that I have a rather spectacular reputation when it comes to _relieving _certain frustrations. All you had to do was ask -,”

“Merlin, Malfoy! I’m not talking about _that_!” Rose gawked, feeling her blush cascade down her neck. It might have been the vodka, but she was fairly certain Malfoy had just offered to have sex with her and she couldn’t seem to decide whether to be disgusted or intrigued by the idea. “I just meant,” she stuttered, “frustrated at life, at this stupid rumour nonsense! Not _sexually _frustrated! I am perfectly _satisfied_ in that department, thank you.”

“Oh, right,” was all Scorpius had to offer her. Oddly, he looked rather crestfallen.

Rose poured herself another drink and slugged it down, needily. The reality of the situation, of course, was that she wasn’t ‘satisfied’ in that department at all. In fact, she struggled to even remember the last time she’d had those sorts of frustrations relieved. The Auror Training programme made it rather hard to date or develop anything serious romantically, what with the weird shift patterns and unsociable hours, and truth be told, she hadn’t really met anyone that had seemed worth the effort.

Not that she needed Malfoy knowing any of that, mind you. He might just offer to shag her again, and she was more than a little concerned – based on the quiet hum that had taken up residence in her lower belly – that she might just say yes. 

She cleared her throat, which suddenly felt rather like dry sandpaper. “What about you? Which lucky witch are you helping to ‘relieve’ this week?” She had a sneaking suspicion that hadn’t sounded as sarcastic as she’d intended.

Scorpius looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged and glanced away across the empty pub. “No one, actually. Not for a while.”

Rose couldn’t find it in her to feel too sympathetic, ‘a while’ for Scorpius could mean anything longer than forty-eight hours. “Oh dear, what about that stellar reputation of yours?”

“Seemingly going to waste.”

“A regrettable travesty for the female population, I’m sure.”

He gave a low chuckle and met her gaze. The humour in his grey stare surprised her and she smiled at him, unguarded. “Actually,” he said after a moment, “I had something of a realisation a few months ago.”

“Don’t tell me,” she laughed, “you read in your tea leaves that there is more to life than chasing skirt, and now you’re a practicing celibate monk?”

Scorpius appeared to consider this for a moment. “Something like that, although that last part is entirely involuntary, I assure you.”

He was looking at her again, watching, studying, waiting for something perhaps. As if there was some secret inside joke that he expected them to share. But Rose didn’t know what it was she was supposed to be laughing at, so in the end he just gave her a rueful smile and topped up both their glasses.

“So,” he shook his head, as if to derail himself from whichever train of thought he’d been heading down, “what are we going to do about our two lovebirds, then?”

Rose blinked at him stupidly though a somewhat vodka tinted blur. “Sorry?”

“Potter and Longbottom,” he rolled his eyes. “Our resident Romeo and Juliet. Our Tristan and Isolde, our Helena Ravenclaw and Bloody Baron!”

Rose wrinkled her nose and frowned. “Why do all of your romantic examples end in the death of all parties involved?”

Scorpius ignored her, swilling the contents of his drink around in the glass and staring out, thoughtfully, over the sea of empty tables. “Weird though, isn’t it, that they’re both being so secretive about it? I mean, it’s not as if we don’t already know they’re going at it like a pair of horny trolls. I’m actually a little offended they haven’t told us, officially.”

“Me too!” Rose slapped her palm down on the sticky table top in solidarity. “And not only are they not telling us, but they’re physically avoiding us! I mean, what does Emily think is going to happen if I get too close to her, that I’m somehow going to _smell _all the sex on her?”

Scorpius blinked, then leaned forward conspiratorially to whisper: “Is it weird that I found what you just said incredibly arousing?”

Rose snorted. “Very, you pervert.” He grinned rakishly. Rose felt his knee bump against hers under the table. Neither of them moved away.

“Imagine if they got married,” he mused, a sly smile creeping around his mouth.

Rose arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been reading _Witch Weekly _again, haven’t you?”

He gave her foot a jovial nudge, which inadvertently slid his leg closer to hers. “I reckon you’d be fairly high on the list of potential Maid of Honours, agreed?” Rose shrugged and nodded. “And I’m a shoo in for Best Man, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously,” she rolled her eyes, pretending to ignore the warmth of Scorpius’ thigh pressed against hers.

“Well,” he grinned, still half leaning over the table-top towards her, “you know what they say about the Best Man and the Maid of Honour, don’t you?” Rose stared at him blankly. “That it’s tradition – _neigh_ – their solemn duty to get drunk and shag at the reception.”

“Oh, Merlin, Malfoy!” Rose plastered on a grimace and hid her blush behind her drink. “Do you honestly think of nothing else?!”

“Other than various ways to try and get you into the sack? No, very little else for the last fifteen years, I’m sorry to say.”

Rose couldn’t help it. That ridiculous, self-satisfied grin of his managed to coax a laugh out of her as though it were designed for exactly that purpose. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was laughing at – maybe the sheer absurdity of the conversation and the fact that she was now drinking buddies with Malfoy, or maybe that she honestly couldn’t tell if he was being serious and whether or not she wanted him to be. She managed to stop giggling like an idiot just long enough to meet his eye – his gaze lively and just the indecent side of suggestive – and felt that hum behind her navel begin to pulse southward. She swallowed, hard.

“If that’s really all you can think about then it’s a miracle that business of yours makes any money at all,” she muttered, trying and failing to suppress a smirk of her own.

Scorpius’ eyes darted from the little quirk of her mouth back up to her pupils, blown wide with the alcohol. “Miss Weasley,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”

She arched a defiant eyebrow. “Then it’s a good job you do know better, because that would also mean that Hell had frozen over and we were living in the End of Days.”

Scorpius shrugged, eyes never leaving hers. “I think that might still be worth the trade off.”

Rose was reduced to offering him a half-hearted eye roll, finding herself suddenly tongue tied by the look on his face and the colony of butterflies that had just found their way into her stomach. “Trust me, Malfoy,” she managed to keep her expression even, “I am not now, nor will I ever be, guilty of flirting with you. Consider the apocalypse postponed.”

Scorpius laughed then, dropping his gaze as he shook his head, and the momentarily strange atmosphere was gone. Rose let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Pleased as she was to be out from under the scrutiny of one of his suggestive stares, she found herself feeling uneasy. Because even before the words had left her mouth, she’d realised – with a shocking certainty – that they had actually been a bare faced lie.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort or maybe just because he was bored, Scorpius changed the subject. “Heard Al’s banned you from going to his matches this season.”

Rose, immensely thankful for something to think about other than her swirling hormones, scoffed loudly, “He’s a superstitious idiot.”

“The Falcons did lose every game you went to, though, right? And didn’t their keeper nearly lose an eye when you accosted him with a giant foam finger?”

“_He _walked into me, actually -,”

“Well, I highly doubt he expected you to be lurking in the male shower rooms -,”

“I was not lurking! I do not lurk!”

Scorpius grinned, Rose huffed, and so the evening continued. They fell into a remarkably easy rhythm, each poking fun at the other whenever the opportunity presented itself, and covering the full gamut of topics – including, but not limited to: how little effort Rose spent on her hair, how much effort Scorpius spent on his, the various embarrassing things that Charlie McLaggen had done at school, and what each of their Patronus forms said about the other (Rose’s, a fox, that she liked rummaging in bins and ate too much chicken. Scorpius’, a magpie, that he was easily distracted by shiny things, which neatly explained his dating history).

Though she’d never have believed it a week ago, Rose found she was actually enjoying herself and his company. She had to assume it was down to the vodka. That, at least, must have dulled her senses enough that she could actually keep up conversation with the prat without wanting to choke on her own tongue. What it couldn’t explain, however, was that this was the first time she’d laughed as much in ages, or that persistent little flutter of feeling beneath her rib cage. Or that she had yet to move away from the warmth of Scorpius’ thigh pressed against hers beneath the table.

Glancing at their empty glasses, Rose noted, with an uncoordinated blink of surprise, that their bottle was empty. She wondered how long they’d been sat there. The pub had attracted a growing handful of customers over the last few hours, a number loitering by the bar and being loud and raucous, as if this was the last stop on an already heavy night out. A static wail erupted from the muggle speaker system overhead, preparing to blare out some no doubt terrible music, and she winced. Seemed like her cue to go home.

Rising from her seat in the booth, enough vodka in her system to cause her to sway a little on her feet, Rose stared down at her evening’s unlikely companion. He blinked up at her, seemingly amused by something, and cocked his head to one side.

“Are you about to make a speech?”

She laughed. “No, Malfoy. I’m going home. Thank you for dinner and all the drinks...” she paused to fend off a hiccup. “I haven’t had a totally terrible time.”

Scorpius snorted and pulled what looked like two muggle bank notes from his pocket, tossing them onto the table next to the empty bottle, before clambering to his feet as well. He followed her out the bar with a parting nod to the barman.

Rose was halfway down the nearest dark alleyway when Scorpius grabbed her hand and stopped her in her tracks. “Where on Earth do you think you’re going?” he looked at her oddly.

“Home, stupid,” she laughed, a little too merrily.

“You’re not apparating anywhere.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Malfoy -,”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not having your dad – one time Chief Auror, Mr Ronald Bilius Weasley – blame _me_ for his daughter’s fatal splinching accident whilst under the influence. Come on, I’ll walk you to the nearest Floo point.”

The nearest Floo point turned out to be a very long way away. Either that or, in their equally inebriated states, they’d simply sauntered passed half a dozen before stumbling upon the unassuming block of public toilets on the corner of Edgware Road. Why none of the muggles ever questioned the need for a fireplace at the end of the row of urinals was anyone’s guess. At some point on their journey, Scorpius had slung his warm wool coat over Rose’s shoulders, who apparently hadn’t had the wherewithal to complain this time. He had also yet to let go of her hand. Either she hadn’t noticed the latter, or was keeping very quiet about it.

They loitered awkwardly outside the square brick building. “Well… Goodnight, Malfoy,” Rose moved to head inside, pausing when he didn’t manage to relinquish her hand in time.

“Slight issue…” he muttered, looking a little sheepish. She arched an eyebrow warily. “I’m not sure I should really be apparating either. You know, for safety reasons.”

“Right. And?” she blinked up at him. The cool night air had brought out spots of pink on both their cheeks.

“Well, my new place still isn’t on the Floo network yet, so…” he seemed to be staring at the empty air immediately above Rose’s head, evidently not quite able to meet her eye. Rose furrowed her brow. She had a vague idea where this was headed but, courtesy of all the vodka, was finding it slightly difficult to articulate it properly in her mind.

“…Maybe I could stay at yours?” he finished for her.

“Malfoy!” she laughed, incredulously. “No! No way! That’s exactly what got us into this mess in the first place!”

“Oh, come on!” he grinned. “What else am I meant to do?”

“You can walk, for all I care!”

“In these shoes? It’s bloody miles away!”

Rose glanced at his footwear and snorted in amusement. “Well, serves you right for buying such poncey footwear, you tosser!”

He gasped in mock offence. “I’ll have you know these are Italian made, Dragonhide Chelsea boots! And they cost me a sizeable chunk of my inheritance!”

“I don’t care what they are!” she laughed. “But they look ridiculous, and _painful_.”

“Exactly! Which is why you should take pity on me and my poor feet and let me come home with you.”

Rose rolled her eyes and sighed, blowing a stray curl out of her face and narrowing her eyes at him. He was giving her his best innocent stare – which, in his case, still made him look like he had several nasty plans up his sleeve. She was almost completely certain that this was a terrible, _terrible _idea. Almost. “Oh, fine. You can stay. But you’re on the sofa, this time.”

Something flitted across Scorpius’ face and he opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and shut it again with a grin, “Whatever you say, Weasley.” Then, before she had chance to change her mind, he grabbed her by the hand again and set off for the urinal-adjacent fireplace with a spring in his step.


	6. Chapter 6

When Rose awoke to find Scorpius Malfoy in her bed for the second time that week, she wasn’t nearly half as surprised as she had been the first time. It still took her a few slow seconds to recollect the chain of events that had led to them crawling under the sheets together again, thanks to the rather numerous drinks she’d consumed the previous night, but it had come back to her eventually, along with a rather pounding headache.

When the two of them had finally stumbled though the fireplace in the wee hours, it had taken Rose less than a minute to realise her mistake. She had allowed Scorpius to come home with her on the one condition that he was to kip on the couch this time. The main problem with that being that she didn’t in fact own a couch, currently. She’d sworn, loudly, and stared at the spot on her living room floor where her lovely green suede sofa had once stood before it’s run in with Al and Scorpius earlier that month. Scorpius had thumped into the back of her, a little unsteady on his feet himself, and gasped theatrically at the empty space as he peered over her shoulder.

“Well, would you look at that…” he’d said in the most unconvincingly shocked tones.

Just about managing to dodge her poorly aimed punch to the arm, he had then promptly tripped over the coffee table as she’d set about chasing him round the living room: “Malfoy, you sneaky git! You tricked me!”

Of course, Scorpius had found the whole thing hilarious, a smug grin plastered across his face from the moment he’d stepped foot in the flat. At first, Rose had declared he could go and sleep in Albus’ room, but – as Scorpius was quick to point out – his door was firmly shut and neither of them particularly felt like finding out what or who might lie behind it. Especially given the current awkwardness surrounding their friends’ maybe-possibly-whoevenknewanymore burgeoning relationship. Eventually, Rose had let out a screech of exasperation and stormed into her bedroom, poking her mane of red curls around the door a moment later to growl at him:

“Well, are you coming or not then?”

He didn’t need asking twice. This time, at least, she had forced him to wear pyjamas – grabbing an old t-shirt of Al’s and a pair of flannel bottoms from the radiator and chucking them at him with a poisonous glare. He’d simply smirked, giving her absolutely no warning before stripping off his work shirt and pants to change. She’d managed to cover her eyes _just _in time. Just not quite quick enough to avoid the scarlet blush that erupted across her face and chest (she swore it was always worse after she’d been drinking). 

And so it was that Rose awoke to find herself staring into the peaceful, sleeping face of Scorpius, the tip of his nose a mere few inches from hers on the next pillow. As she blinked away the vestiges of sleep, she also became aware of his arm draped across her waist and warm against her skin where her pyjamas had ridden up through the night. She moved to shove him away but thought better of it. She wasn’t quite ready to face both her morning’s hangover _and _Malfoy all at once and so she’d rather not wake him just yet. At least, that’s what she told herself in the moment.

Quietly, she appraised the man lying beside her. He looked younger, somehow, when he was asleep. All the frown lines and smirks relaxed and softened. He didn’t snore, she noticed, which was a pity because she’d have liked to tease him about it like he did her. A tuft of blond hair was sticking out haphazardly, reminding her very much of Albus, and she found she had to stop herself reaching up to brush it back into place.

“Are you watching me sleep, Weasley?”

Rose flinched sharply, eyes darting from his hair to his face, to find him eyeing her with a sleepy grin. “No!” she cried, rather loudly, making them both wince. “And... And you broke the rules!” Somewhat reluctantly, she swatted his arm away from where it was still curled around her midriff.

Before getting into bed, she’d drawn an imaginary line down the centre of the mattress – she was all for building a real barricade out of socks at the time, but Scorpius had refused to help her and she probably didn’t have enough socks anyway – and declared that neither were allowed to breach their half under punishment of death.

Scorpius laughed, rubbing at heavy lidded eyes. “I’m afraid my subconscious has never been particularly good at following orders. Besides, you’re one to talk, fairly sure you tried to spoon me as soon as I’d nodded off.”

Rose gave him a good hard nudge on the shoulder. “I absolutely did not!” she cried, but couldn’t help the laugh that followed at the idea of her petite frame trying to engulf Malfoy into being the ‘little spoon’.

Shaking his head at her in amusement, Scorpius yawned and stretched his arms lazily above his head, causing Albus’ tatty old _Weird Sisters_ t-shirt (that Rose had a feeling might have even belonged to Teddy many moons ago) to ride up his torso. Rose’s eyes wandered without permission to the pale skin of his abdomen, to the triangular cut of his obliques and the faint line of silvery hair that ran down from his belly button and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

Suddenly, her mouth felt rather dry, in a way she couldn’t entirely blame on her burgeoning hangover. She could feel the warmth of him next to her amongst the sheets, knew she’d be able to smell that ridiculous cologne of his on her pillows for days to come, and realised (with a blush) that she’d only have to move her hand an inch or so to the right and she could slip it beneath that very same waistband and feel whatever was creating that rather obvious bulge in the plaid fabric of his pyjamas.

_Go on. Everyone thinks you’re doing it anyway… _came that same little voice that had taken up residence inside her head the previous night. It was the type of voice that she imagined deranged people blamed for making them murder their pet Kneazle or hold up Gringott’s at wand-point, and she already knew it was going to get her into trouble if she listened to it for more than a moment.

Sitting up abruptly, sheets pooling at her waist and making Scorpius groan at the sudden movement, Rose began to clamber out of bed – away from the warmth and the unhelpful thoughts and the temptation – stopping to grab a jumper off the back of a chair and wiggle it on over her head.

“Where are you going?” Scorpius propped himself up on his elbows and blinked at her, bleary eyed, as she made for the bedroom door.

“We need coffee! And breakfast!” her voice sounded unusually shrill, even to her own ears.

Scorpius simply groaned and flopped back down into the pillows, “I should’ve known you’d be a sodding morning person, Weasley,” but dragged himself out from under the safety of the bed covers to follow her, reluctantly, through the living room and into the flat’s little kitchenette.

Rose had always known that her and Al’s flat was on the small side, but she had never been more acutely aware of this fact than as she tried to move around Scorpius in their tiny galley kitchen. He was everywhere, as she tried to make them a morning coffee. She had to squeeze passed him to fill the kettle at the sink, then wriggle around him again to grab the milk from the fridge. She almost forgot to breathe when, as she strained on her tip-toes to reach the mugs on the high shelf, he leaned over her from behind, one arm brushing against her hip as he plucked two cups down for her with ease.

He set them on the counter top with just the faintest of smirks, just as the kettle began to scream. Finding herself unable to meet his eye, Rose turned her attention to food, pulling a dusty box of cereal from the cupboard and sniffing at it suspiciously. She couldn’t be sure how long it had been hiding there.

“No, no, no. _That _is not a breakfast,” he stared at her, aghast.

“It’s good for you,” Rose frowned between him and the box, “It’s….full of….fibre, or something.”

He snorted, grabbing the cereal box from her hand and discarding of it with all the disdain he felt it deserved. “Get out of the way, Weasley,” he muttered, nudging her to the side gently, to peer into the cupboards. “You live with Albus Potter, so I know there’s something unhealthy in here somewhere.”

Rose rolled her eyes but was more than happy to take a back seat, perching herself on the counter top at one end of the kitchen, her coffee in hand, and watching Scorpius as he set about making them something actually edible for breakfast. He looked oddly at home in his mismatched pyjamas, creating a mess with bags of flour and mixing bowls that Rose didn’t even know she owned. She watched as he reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead, leaving a smudge of white flour there, and felt something in her chest flutter and grow warm. 

She cleared her throat, “So, you cook now?”

Scorpius shrugged, “You pick up a few things when you grow up in a household with a dozen or so house elves.”

“I’m weirdly impressed.”

He shot her a lopsided grin, “It’s French toast, Rosie, not exactly worthy of an Order of Merlin.”

She arched an eyebrow as he started dusting things with cinnamon. “If it tastes as good as it smells, I think they’ve been given out for far less. And I told you not to -,”

“Not to call you that,” he chuckled to himself, “I know.”

Ten minutes later and Rose was tucking into the most delicious breakfast that she was positive had ever been cooked in her flat. With no sofa and no dining table (Albus had refused to buy one when they moved in, said dining tables were for grown ups which, at twenty six, neither of them apparently were), they’d sat themselves down on the living room floor, plates in lap. As she set about demolishing her food, Rose realised she’d have to add another point to the list of personality traits she was discovering about Malfoy this week. ‘Handy with a whisk’ ranked just above ‘lover of fried fish’ as one of the more surprising revelations.

If she wasn’t careful, she might start running out of reasons to ignore the fact that she quite clearly fancied the pants off him.

Rose froze with a mouthful of maple syrup as this thought inserted itself into her brain. She tried to blink it away quickly, to dismiss it as a product of her hangover or the sugar high she was now experiencing, but as soon as it had landed in her subconscious, she knew it was there to stay, and that it was true. She fancied Malfoy. _And_, came that self-destructive little voice again, _not just because he had a pretty face_.

Scorpius seemed to have spotted that she had stopped eating – and was possibly having some sort of absent seizure – and leaned forward to check that she was alright, just as the sound of keys in the front door lock caused them both to freeze and stare up at the intrusion.

Lily’s sleek, bright auburn head appeared in the doorway a moment later, hazel eyes lighting up as they landed on the two of them, sat cross legged on the floor together in their pyjamas. “You two are just ridiculously adorable,” she grinned down at them.

“Oh, Merlin, give me strength,” Rose growled, fully aware that far more than just the tips of her ears had gone pink in the last thirty or so seconds. “You’re giving me that spare key back this instant, Lily Potter.”

Lily pouted but essentially ignored her. “I come bearing gifts!” she exclaimed, gesturing at the canvas bag slung over her shoulder. “Flapjacks from Grandma Molly and Dad’s sent over a few things for Al. Apparently he’s been asking about Potter family heirlooms, Merlin knows why. And… I thought you might want to see _this_.”

She was suddenly brandishing a copy of that morning’s _Daily Prophet_ with such a mischievous grin that Rose was afraid the newspaper was about to explode in her face. She stared at her cousin and the outstretched paper in confusion, glanced quickly at Scorpius who looked equally bemused, and took it from her gingerly.

“Er, thanks, Lily. Though I’m sure I could have picked one up myself, later…” Rose unfolded the newspaper and looked down at the front page – the morning’s headlines shouted about the recent appointment of her Uncle Harry’s friend, Mr Wood, to the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Not particularly interesting stuff unless you were the sort of person who cared about Ministry administrative reshuffling. She blinked up at Scorpius, who shrugged back at her.

“Eugh,” she heard Lily’s audible eye roll from across the room. “Not that page! In the business section!”

Shooting her cousin a wary glance, Rose re-shuffled the paper and turned to the last few pages. For a brief second, her eyes roamed aimlessly over the tiny print. Next to her and peering over her shoulder, she felt Scorpius stiffen slightly and mutter: “Ah.”

It was an article about _Malfoy Incorporate _and the various recent purchases of independent potioneer businesses. The text was dry and analytical and went mostly over Rose’s head, with words such as franchised monopoly and global market thrown around, but that wasn’t the part that had got Lily all excited. The article was accompanied by two images. The first, a portrait style shot of Scorpius’ parents, looking extremely well put together and business-like at a recent press conference. The second, a rather grainier shot of Scorpius and herself, walking through the streets of Muggle London, hand in hand, and grinning at each other stupidly. The caption beneath the pictures simply stated: _The two generations on the board of ‘Malfoy Incorporate’_ _with their respective partners. _

Rose watched the printed version of herself throw her head back in laughter over and over again on a loop, blissfully unaware of the photographer who – she mentally calculated – must have been hiding in a bush somewhere near the Edgware Road Floo station the previous night. Suddenly feeling rather light headed, Rose blinked down at the picture until it became blurry on the page in front of her. Despite the initial stab of panic and rage, she actually felt like she was taking the whole thing fairly well. Considering that, despite the fact that she’d just been publicly labelled as Scorpius Malfoy’s ‘respective partner,’ she had yet to set fire to anything in the local vicinity.

“It’s actually a lovely picture of you, Rosie,” Lily was beaming at her, “and you too, Malfoy, but all photos of you are lovely for obvious reasons. You two look so happy together.”

Rose grit her teeth, eyes still glued to the paper. She could feel Scorpius’ eyes on her, watching for her reaction. She kept her features carefully impassive. “Lily,” she looked up slowly, “put down the flapjacks and whatever weird knick-knacks you’ve brought for Al… and kindly bugger off.”

“Oh, come on, Rosie,” Lily just rolled her eyes at her, “no need to be grumpy. I’d have thought you’d be glad it was all out in the open. Now you don’t have to pretend that you two aren’t a thing, anymore. Merlin knows, if I was going out with Malfoy, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops -,”

“Lily, I swear on Helga’s name, if you’re not out of this flat in the next twenty seconds…” Rose’s hand twitched towards her wand laying on the coffee table. Lily’s eyes grew wide.

“Alright, alright! I’m going!” she backed towards the door, mercifully leaving behind the flapjacks, “You know how I feel about Bat-Bogey Hexes. Get enough of them at home, thank you very much,” and flounced back out through the front door. Still in possession of one spare key, Rose noted idly.

Scorpius didn’t say a word until the younger girl had left them alone again, then – possibly because he had a death wish – he started to laugh. Rose’s head snapped up from the newspaper to deliver him with a poisonous scowl. “What on Earth do you find funny about this?” she muttered, darkly.

He arched a slim eyebrow, pressing his lips together firmly to quiet himself, “Sorry, it’s just that I’d sort of assumed _I_ would be the one being kicked out of here this morning.”

Rose blinked at him, distractedly. Oddly, it had never even occurred to her to ask him to leave. And that was even before she knew he could cook. She furrowed her brow again and stared down at their picture in the paper. They really did look bizarrely happy together. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked so… full of the joys of life.

With a grumbled curse, she crumpled the pages in her fist and threw them into the fireplace. “If I find out you had anything to do with this, Malfoy -,”

Scorpius gaped at her as though she’d grown a third nostril, “Sorry, are you actually accusing me of hiring some low-life paparazzi to stalk us through town and take blurry, unflattering photos of us from inside a shrubbery?”

Rose faltered and bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing at the stupidity of it all. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a little ridiculous. But I still wouldn’t put it past you.” She set about collecting up their discarded plates and coffee cups.

“And for what purpose, exactly? I mean, what would I be hoping to achieve with this?” he followed her back into the kitchenette, where she was dumping the crockery into the sink with a tad more force than was strictly necessary. “I am just as much of a victim of this violation of privacy as you are.”

“Oh yes, you seem awfully cut up about it, too,” she sniped.

“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion. Who cares what they put in the small print on page twenty-three, anyway? They didn’t even print your name, for Salazar’s sake!”

“As if that matters!” she cried. She was a Weasley, who also happened to bear a striking resemblance to her mother. Anyone with half a brain could tell who it was in that photo. Rose turned to look at him then, her annoyance simmering in her blue eyes. He met her gaze, his own glinting with amusement. She huffed in irritation, “This is just… it’s just ridiculous! As if _we _would be -, I mean, as if I’d ever be your ‘respective partner’!”

Scorpius let that sentence wash over him and frowned slightly. He turned so he was leaning back against the counter top and looked down at her with one slim eyebrow raised. “Is it really so ridiculous?”

Rose almost dropped the mug she was rinsing out. “What?” she stared up at him.

He shrugged casually, his face carefully blank, arms folded loosely across his chest, “I’m sure the two of us being an item is hardly outside of the realm of possibility as far as the newspapers are concerned. We’ve known each other for years, after all. Our families are both what you’d call high profile, we’re close -,”

“We are _not _close -,”

“Weasley, we’ve slept together two times this week -,”

“‘Slept’ being the operative word. And you told me I snore like a hippogriff, as I recall.”

“A _drowning _hippogriff,” he corrected her, smoothly. She glared at him, he smirked – not unkindly. “Besides, are you honestly telling me you’ve never thought about it?”

Rose bristled and turned away sharply, busying herself with the remaining dirty dishes. “About what?”

“You know what,” he muttered, his voice lowering an octave as he gave her a gentle nudge with his knee. The contact made the back of the hair on Rose’s neck and arms stand up.

“There’s lots of things I’ve never thought about, Malfoy,” she muttered, curtly, steadfastly avoiding his gaze as she started scrubbing rather vigorously at a frying pan. “The original recruitment of owls for the postal service, for instance, or the complexities of acquiring bat spleens for potion making.”

Scorpius arched an eyebrow, “And while both are scintillating topics, I’m sure, I’d much rather hear your thoughts on our imaginary coupling.”

Rose could feel her cheeks super-heating to nuclear levels. If he’d asked her the same question a week ago, she would have been able to look him in the eye and tell him, truthfully, that she had never wasted the activity of even a single brain cell on such an absurd notion, nor would she ever want to. Now, however, that was categorically untrue. She had actually thought about little else all week – at first, out of annoyance, when she was accused of having a secret relationship with him by her nearest and dearest, and more recently, thanks to that uncooperative part of her brain that kept noticing how stupidly good-looking he was, and how surprisingly fun he was to be around.

Acutely aware of Scorpius’ annoyingly intuitive gaze burning into the side of her head, she realised anything more than ten seconds of silence would be taken as an admission of guilt. Sucking in a slightly shaky breath, Rose turned to look up at him: “I can’t say I’ve lost any sleep over it.” And then, for some reason, she heard herself asking: “Why? Do you think about it?”

Scorpius’ mercurial stare was burning a hole in her retinas. “Frequently, and with great pleasure.”

At that precise moment, Rose’s gaze was torn – painfully and reluctantly – away from the man in front her by a flurry of tawny and black feathers descending on the kitchen window. With a start, she dropped the dishcloth she was holding and turned to stare at the impressive Eagle owl that was struggling to find a perch on the little outside ledge and started tapping urgently against the glass with its beak.

“What the -,” Malfoy flinched at the sight of the bird, darting forwards to open the window. It shuffled inside with a ruffle of indignation, barely fitting through the tiny frame. The two of them stared at it in surprised silence for a moment, until it screeched at them in annoyance and stuck out its leg. Scorpius shot forward to retrieve the attached letter.

“It’s addressed to you,” he frowned, turning over the small white envelope in his hands. 

“Well, it is my flat,” she muttered, feeding the remnants of her French toast to the rather unhappy creature.

“Yes but,” he glanced at her warily, “that’s Ulysses… He’s my father’s owl.”

Rose froze, blinking up at Scorpius in surprise and earning herself a nip on her finger for accidentally withholding further breakfast scraps. “Why- why is your father sending me letters?”

His frown deepened as he chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek, “Though I have many talents, Weasley, being a Seer is not one of them.”

Hesitantly, as if against his better judgement, he held out the letter to her, offering her a shrug in response to her questioning glance. Tentatively, she took the outstretched envelope. This was the second time that morning she’d been handed something she didn’t really want to read. This was starting to become a pattern.

Breaking open the wax seal, she unfolded the letter and read aloud: “‘_Dear Miss Weasley, I trust this letter and Ulysses find you well. My wife and I request the pleasure of your company this evening at Malfoy Manor for our annual Summer gala. My apologies for the short notice of this invitation. Unfortunately, neither my wife nor I were aware of your existence before this morning’,_” she snorted. “Charming. _‘Despite the lateness of the hour, we hope you will be able to attend. Sincerely, Draco Malfoy’._”

Rose looked up at Scorpius with an expression that she hoped adequately expressed ‘what the bloody fuck’. Scorpius was staring at the letter as it if had just asked him a particularly irksome riddle. 

“What in the name of Merlin’s left arse cheek is a Summer gala?” Rose asked at last, when no immediate explanation seemed forthcoming. “And why am I being invited to one?”

“It’s a work thing, really,” Scorpius was still watching the letter as if it might spontaneously combust in her hands, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “A networking thing for the company shareholders.”

“Right,” Rose blinked, “which brings me again to my second question, what on Earth am I doing on the guest list?”

Rose watched the tips of Scorpius’ ears turn pink. It would have been endearing in any other situation. “Er, I suspect that may have something to do with this morning’s paper. My father is an avid reader of the business section.”

Rose recoiled internally, “So much for ‘nobody reads the small print on page twenty-three’.”

“Look, it’s really not a big deal,” he protested, as the colour started to drain from Rose’s cheeks. “Normally I take Al as my plus one to this sort of thing, but his social calendar has become a little more active than usual, as you know. There’s always a free bar, plenty of food. We stand around making small talk for an hour or so and then steal a few bottles of champagne for the road. It’s…fun,” he shrugged.

“Fun?” Rose stared at him as though he’d just suggested taking a dip in the Black Lake in mid-winter.

He clocked her expression and snorted. “Yes, Weasley. _Fun_. You do know the meaning of the word, don’t you?”

She just about resisted the urge to sneer at him. “Forgive me if my definition doesn’t involve chit-chatting with a bunch of business megalomaniacs over canapes.”

Scorpius started chuckling, probably at her use of the word ‘megalomaniac.’ “Weasley, look, you don’t have to go. But… it might be -,”

“Don’t say fun.”

“_…Nice_, to have you there. As a friend,” he offered her a lopsided grin. The kind that no girl in their right mind had ever said no to. And he knew it.

Rose rolled her eyes with a grimace. She could think of about seven thousand other things she’d rather do with her evening, other than attending a bloody Summer whats-its in Malfoy’s parents’ back garden. Most of them didn’t even involve changing out of her pyjamas all day. What did a normal person even wear to something like that, she wondered?

She could also feel her subconscious tussling with Scorpius’ last few words, rolling them around between her ears. _As a friend. _

_Friends._

Is that what they were now? The term seemed so simple. They’d known each other for well over a decade, but Rose didn’t think they’d ever really been friends before. They’d bickered and squabbled at school and rarely spent any time alone before this week. But now she found she actually enjoyed his company – even if she wasn’t ready to admit that to him, yet. Not to mention there were… certain feelings. Tingly feelings, that started dancing behind her rib cage when he smiled at her, a flip in her stomach when she caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and a heat that pooled between her legs whenever she accidentally brushed up against him. That last one, in particular, didn’t feel very _friendly_ at all.

Scorpius politely cleared his throat and Rose started, realising she’d been quiet for a little too long. She swallowed clumsily before she managed to meet his eye. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll go. As a friend.”

Scorpius eyebrows shot up, “Really?”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes at his excitement, feeling spots of heat erupt on both cheeks. “Because if there’s anything more tragic than Scorpius Malfoy having to take Albus Potter as his date to his dad’s party, it’s apparently him having to go on his own.”

Scorpius laughed then, his grin widening until she spotted the rarely sighted dimple in his left cheek. “I knew I could count on you, Rosie!”

Rose promptly threw the dishcloth at his head. “Don’t call me that! Now, bugger off and take you bloody owl with you. It seems I have a gala to get ready for.”

It was another half hour after Scorpius had left the flat, with Ulysses in tow – parting with a cheery ruffle to her curls and a quick kiss on the forehead that Rose was trying very hard not to over-analyse – that she had another terrifying thought: “Bollocks,” she yelled from inside the shower. She was neither the type of girl to own or even have the wardrobe capacity to accommodate a selection of ball gowns – which she assumed was standard dress code for an event hosted at a manor. In fact, there was only one person she knew that was likely to have either, and she’d rather brusquely kicked that person out of her flat that very morning.

Rose stuck her head back under the water in the hopes it might accidentally drown her. There was nothing she relished _less_ than having to grovel to Lily Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There will be a short hiatus in posting, as I am out of the country for the next 4-5 weeks! To be resumed....


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those waiting dutifully for an update I can only apologise as my 5 week hiatus turned into something more like 12 weeks... I can only blame real life, which has an unrivalled ability to disrupt even the best laid plans, and a bad case of WB for this chapter that left me screaming at my laptop on multiple evenings. But here we are at last - enjoy and thanks for your patience.

Lily Potter had been called many things in her lifetime by many different people. Her older brother, James, had once declared her to be an insufferable nitwit, which she’d found a bit rich coming from the only member of the family to get a T for Troll in one of their O.W.L.S. On another occasion, after a particularly explosive hour spent in the dungeons, her fifth-year Potion’s professor had deemed her a public safety hazard with a cauldron, and with that one she rather had to agree. And Marcus Sloper – one time Hufflepuff Quidditch captain – had drunkenly claimed she was the best snog of his life (an accolade that Rose knew her cousin was secretly still proud of to that day). But one thing that no one had ever tried to claim was that Lily Potter was a forgiving soul which was why, as Rose timidly approached her bedroom door later that afternoon, she came bearing gifts. And she certainly didn’t make any of the usual jokes about Lily still living with her parents.

“What’s all this in aid of?” Lily asked primly, peering into the proffered bag containing a pint of her favourite ice cream from Florean Fortescue’s, a bottle of rosé wine and the little sparkly mini-skirt that she always asked to borrow whenever she wanted to make an impression on a night out. Which was roughly every other Saturday.

Rose winced, “I may have been a little, er, hasty earlier. I’m sure you were only trying to help by ambushing me in my own home, ruining my day and humiliating me.” Lily frowned. Rose bit the inside of her cheek; she’d never been the best at apologies. “What I’m trying to say,” she sighed, “is that I’m sorry for kicking you out of the flat this morning. I guess I felt a little caught off-guard, that’s all.”

“You threatened to hex me,” Lily sniffed, arms folding across her chest.

“Well, you were technically breaking and entering -,” Rose snapped, then grimaced at the remarkable shortness of her own temper. What was it that Scorpius had said to her the other night? That she had the ‘monopoly on yelling’. Well, whilst that might have a ring of truth to it when it came to their arguments, she didn’t want that to be the case with everybody, especially not family.

“Look, I really am sorry, Lily,” she muttered. “I suppose I’m probably near the bottom of the favourite cousin league tables right now, aren’t I?”

Lily snorted. “Yes, you are. But lucky for you, you’re the only cousin whose sexual exploits have recently made the national newspapers and so that wins you a few extra points for drama,” she grinned at her cheekily.

Rose grimaced at the reminder of her most recent social humiliation, which was merely the latest in a string of mortifications directly related to a certain platinum blond. The fact that she seemed to mind less and less with each passing blow was something that she wouldn’t be sharing with Lily for all the gold in Gringotts. 

“Er, right, yes,” Rose cleared her throat. “Well, if I’m still above James in the pecking order at least, I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.”

That certainly piqued Lily’s interest. “Help with what exactly?” she narrowed her eyes, suspiciously.

Rose had absolutely no idea why she suddenly found herself blushing. She fiddled with the hem of her jumper and jerked her head towards the wardrobe. “I actually wondered if I could borrow a dress…. Well, a ball gown, more specifically.”

Lily’s face lit up with unadulterated joy. It wasn’t that Rose was a tomboy exactly, in fact, aside from her Auror-Training uniform (and really, who could honestly claim to pull off combat boots and an all black ensemble with a complexion like hers?), she thought she dressed rather nicely for her figure. Lily, however, was in another league entirely. The girl had a seemingly photographic memory of every fashion editorial in the history of _Witch Weekly_, knew exactly which silhouette to best suit any body type and could make you look like you came from the Delacour branch of the family without the need for Veela genes. Plus, ever since Albus had flown the nest to move in with Rose, Lily had unofficially converted his bedroom into additional wardrobe space, which meant plenty of room for her ever-expanding collection of fineries – muggle and wizard alike.

Apparently thrilled at the prospect of dressing her older cousin for the evening, Lily had already dragged her across the hall into her chamber of dress-robes and pulled out four or five different outfits before it even occurred to her to ask what Rose might be in need of a ball gown for.

“A ball, obviously,” Rose mumbled, awkwardly, “Well, strictly speaking, it’s a gala.”

“What’s a gala?”

“Merlin, if I know,” she shrugged, running her fingers across the satin sash of one of the dresses and avoiding her cousin’s curious gaze. “Apparently there’s a lot of standing about making small talk, eating tiny amounts of food and being polite to people you’d probably rather hex into oblivion.”

Lily tilted her head thoughtfully, “Will there be dancing?”

“Sweet Circe, I hope not,” Rose snorted.

“And where exactly is this gala being held?”

Rose glanced nervously at her cousin, who was still watching her with great interest, before sticking her head into the next wardrobe containing Lily’s rather impressive shoe collection. “S’atMalfoyManor,” she directed at a pair of beaded wedge heels. 

The was a moment of silence and Rose almost thought she’d gotten away with it, and then: “Rose Weasley, that isn’t a vanishing cabinet, you know?! I can see and hear you perfectly fine! Are you telling me you’re Scorpius’ date to a ‘_gala_’ – whatever on Earth that is – at his parents’ private home?”

Rose grimaced into the dark cupboard; it really did sound rather incriminating when she heard it spoken out loud. Peeking around the doorframe, she found that Lily’s grin was now wide enough that it threatened to swallow the rest of her face entirely. “Look,” she started to protest, “I’m only going as a friend -,”

“Oh, please!” Lily stomped her foot in frustration; Rose’s eyes widened. “You’re not still trying to sell me on that nonsense, are you? I haven’t heard something so unbelievable since Roxanne blamed a hickey on a doxy bite! The two of you are in the bloody newspaper together, for Godric’s sake -,”

“That photo is very misleading!” Rose cried.

“- And I’ve seen you together myself this morning, all cosied up in your pyjamas -,”

“It was just a bit of breakfast!”

Lily rolled her eyes in exasperation, “You and I both know it’s never just a bit of breakfast.”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, Lily,” Rose couldn’t help but laugh.

Lily gave her a look that suggested she thought Rose might be the stupidest person on the entire planet, “It means that if someone is discovered having breakfast at your flat in their pyjamas, its likely they also spent the night there! Are you honestly going to try and convince me that you two didn’t sleep together?”

At that, Rose faltered, “Well, I suppose, er -, I mean, _technically _we did, but -,”

“I knew it!” Lily clapped her hands together, animatedly. “_And?_”

“And nothing, Lily!” Rose scowled. “It was a purely platonic sleepover! We’d had too much to drink and it wasn’t safe to apparate, and Scor– _Malfoy_ is too lazy to get his Floo connection set up, so he stayed at the flat. That’s all it was! Everyone was fully clothed the entire time!”

Lily looked obviously crestfallen. “But you two used to hate each other. Why would you let him stay over, unless -?”

“We’re _friends_ now, alright? Sort of, at least,” Rose frowned. She was starting to feel almost as confused as her cousin. “Can we just drop it? Please?”

Lily held up her hands in defeat and turned her attention back to the pile of dresses she was sorting through, laying each one out on the bed for Rose’s approval. She managed a whole blissful two minutes of silence before poking Rose on the arm to get her attention. “Just for clarity,” she asked quickly, “have you two actually shagged, or not?”

Rose grit her teeth, “No, we have not!”

“Have you kissed?”

“_No_, Lily,” Rose glared over her shoulder, warningly.

Lily knew she was pushing her luck, but she had one more question she really had to ask: “Well, do you want to?”

Rose faltered, cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she managed to choke out, before she shoved her head back inside the wardrobe, ignoring her cousin and the pesky inner voice reminding her that, actually, that all sounded rather appealing.

It took another forty minutes of shoe rummaging, trying on an insurmountable (and totally unnecessary, in Rose’s opinion) number of dresses and letting Lily nit-pick at her overall appearance before Rose finally escaped the Potter family home. She had to admit that the emerald green, velvet, off-the-shoulder gown Lily had chosen for her did actually make the whole torturous affair worth the while.

Lily had also given her unduly strict instruction that it was bad manners to turn up at the time stated on the invitation and that being an hour late was unofficially customary. Thankfully, this had allowed Rose plenty of time to nip home, scrub off the top few layers of make-up that her cousin had enthusiastically applied, and dislodge some of the tight curls that had been pinned atop of her head in an elaborate structure of bobby-pins, sticking charms and hairspray. Rose felt the overall look was acceptable – she had clearly made an effort but she could, at least, still recognise herself in the mirror.

Then, with an uncharacteristic knot in her stomach (she would worry about _why_ she felt quite so nervous another time), she had stepped into her fireplace and read aloud the address included with her invitation.

Much like the offices of _Malfoy Incorporate_, Rose had never visited Malfoy Manor of her own accord before. This had nothing at all to do with the history of the place and everything to do with the fact that she had – up until this week – had a vehement dislike of its young heir and future master. That wasn’t to say she hadn’t been intrigued by the place, however, and had on numerous occasions put the squeeze on Al for descriptions of the rooms and grounds. Now, as she stood in the grand entrance hall, trying to take stock of her surroundings, Rose felt she finally understood why Al had never tried out for the position of Seeker in any of his Quidditch teams, amateur or professional: he was clearly the least observant prat on the planet.

His descriptions of Scorpius’ family home had been nothing short of the greatest understatements of all time. All Albus had ever told her about the Manor was that it was ‘nice’ or ‘big’ or ‘clean’. In reality, the place was astonishingly beautiful, and she’d not even made it three yards from the fireplace. She took in the polished marble floors, the black pillars that looked as if they’d been carved from onyx or jet, and the enormous, ornate mirror that reflected the room back on itself, so that it seemed to go on forever.

Slowly, Rose followed the floating sounds of people and string music, gazing around herself like a first year stepping foot inside Hogwarts castle for the first time. She made her way passed portraits that looked as if they belonged in an art gallery, vases and busts that could have come straight from a museum, and ridiculous crystal chandeliers that made her feel like she’d accidentally stumbled into Versailles. When you lived somewhere like this, she thought – her mouth practically hanging open, spending half your childhood going to school in a castle must have felt like a real step down.

Eventually she found herself at the top of a flight of stone stairs leading out towards the gardens. The grounds, or what she could see of them in the evening light, were already littered with guests and also seemed to go on forever; the formal garden eventually giving way to a maze of hedgerow, and what looked like a vineyard disappearing into the darkness. She wondered idly what sort of charms their groundskeeper must use to grow decent grapes in the cool English climate – and then immediately congratulated herself for having such a sophisticated thought at all. She’d squirrel that one away for a lull in conversation, she decided.

Loitering awkwardly by the open French windows and trying to resist the urge to pull or tweak at her dress, Rose scanned the crowds for a familiar crop of blond hair. The garden was lit by a number of well-placed floating lanterns which, whilst very elegant, made it difficult to scope out the crowd. A number of guests has also, rather unhelpfully, chosen to wear very distracting hats and there was even a tiara or two in the mix, but no sign of Scorpius.

She was almost ready to give it up as a bad job and skulk back towards the fireplace when a familiar voice called up to her from the bottom of the steps: “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come!”

She looked down to find the idiot himself, grinning and bounding up the stairs towards her, taking them two, three at a time till he drew eye level with her. Rose felt the knot in her stomach tighten at the sight of him. Though she preferred his hair a little less sleek and perfect, there was no denying he looked unjustly handsome in his midnight blue dress robes and with a fresh shave. He looked so genuinely thrilled to see her it made her knees wobble.

Rose swallowed quickly, turning away from the handsome git to survey the gardens again. “I know what it feels like to be stood up, remember? I wouldn’t inflict that upon anyone, Malfoy, not even you.”

Scorpius’ grin took on a sly quality, “How very considerate of you, Rosie.” He ignored the dangerous flash of her eyes at the use of the nickname and offered her his arm. “May I? I just saw a tray of champagne go by and, if we’re quick, we might catch it before it finds its way to my Aunt Daphne.”

Rose snorted her amusement but looped her arm through his, letting him lead her down the steps and onto the busy lawn. Glancing around, there wasn’t a single soul here that Rose thought she recognised. She couldn’t remember ever having seen so many well-dressed people in one place before and it was understandably a little intimidating. Almost instinctively, Scorpius moved closer to her as they made their way through the crowd, his hand sliding from her arm till it was resting against the small of her back. Oddly, Rose found the gesture rather comforting and pressed herself into his side a little more.

“You know,” he muttered against her ear, “I was under the impression that would-be Aurors were a bunch of thuggish brutes who didn’t know their way around a bar of soap, but you actually look somewhat presentable this evening.”

“Oh, thank you very much” Rose rolled her eyes and fought a losing battle against her grin. “And I suppose congratulations are in order; I see you’ve learned how to use the top three buttons of a shirt, at long last.”

She felt him chuckling beside her. “You know, I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yes, well, don’t let it go to your head, will you?” she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself smirking back at him.

Scorpius shook his head, amused, and reached out to grab them a flute each from a passing drinks tray. He pressed one into her hand and raised the other towards her. “A toast to _us_ -,” Rose’s eyes grew wide. “– managing to be halfway civil to each other for almost a whole week. I think Al would be rather proud of us, don’t you?”

It took Rose a moment to regain her composure. “Er, yes, well, that’s if we ever actually see him again, of course.”

“Still no sign of him at the flat?”

She shook her head. “I’m beginning to think Emily might have eaten him.”

“There are probably worse ways to go,” Scorpius considered, “than being devoured by the woman you love.”

“You think they’re in love?” Rose’s eyebrows jumped towards her hairline.

He smiled down at her, teasingly, “Don’t you?” 

She rolled her eyes again and tore her gaze away from him. “Merlin, Malfoy! If I’d known you were this much of a sap when we were at school, it would have been so much easier to make fun of you.”

He simply grinned back at her, “You’d have been out of luck, I’m afraid. It seems to be something I’m growing into in my old age,” before taking a hefty gulp of his drink and nodding at something over her shoulder. “Now, brace yourself, the cavalry’s about to arrive.”

“What-?” Rose had just enough time to ask before Scorpius had squared his shoulders and spun her around to face the oncoming assault. Mr and Mrs Malfoy were making their way through the crowds towards them, stopping every few yards to greet their various guests and giving Rose just enough time to realise how very unprepared she was for this particular introduction to take place. Indeed, when they eventually materialised in front of her, she found she had to take an involuntary step back, unwittingly pressing herself against the solid wall of Scorpius stood directly behind her and smirking in amusement. 

“Miss Weasley, I presume?”

Rose’s jaw went oddly slack. Staring up at Draco Malfoy was like having a vision of a future Scorpius. The shock of platinum, the steely grey stare, the frankly impossible cheekbones. People always told Albus he looked like his dad but this – _this_ – was uncanny.

It took Rose a startled moment, and a nudge from Scorpius, to realise that not only was she openly staring, but that Malfoy Senior had his hand outstretched towards her. “Yes! That’s me, s-sorry,” she blushed, offering hers in return and allowing him to raise it chastely to his lips in greeting.

“Not to worry,” Draco drawled. “Your family has always struggled with the complexities of social graces, as I recall.”

“_Father!_” “_Draco!_” – the rest of the family Malfoy chastised him at once. But Rose had caught the ghost of a smirk as it passed over his otherwise stoic expression, and besides, she’d grown up with Hugo, being mocked on a daily basis was part of the deal.

“You should see us all at the dinner table,” Rose offered him a conspiratorial grin, “it’s a study in Darwinism.”

Draco Malfoy stared at her for a moment, then let out a laugh from somewhere deep in his chest. “Excellent. Excellent!” he chuckled, arm curling tightly around the woman beside him. “Please, let me introduce my wife, Astoria, and welcome to our home.”

For the first time, Rose focused her attention on the woman in front of her and would have likely gasped in awe if she hadn’t already been made fun of once for her lack of manners. Astoria Malfoy was, like her house, astonishingly beautiful. Tall and lithe, with dark brown hair pulled up to frame her face. And suddenly, Scorpius no longer looked to her like a carbon copy of his father; Rose could see all the tell-tale hints of his mother, plainly on both of their faces. Although the colour of his eyes was all Malfoy, the shape of them was not. The soft curve of his upper lip, the line of his nose, the way he would calmly tilt his head to observe her - that was evidently all Astoria.

_Helga’s tits, _she thought to herself, Scorpius really had won the genetic lottery coming from these two.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Weasley,” Astoria Malfoy had a voice that could make a werewolf purr. “I am so pleased that you were able to come tonight and very sorry for the lateness of the invitation.” At that, she gave her son a look of jovial admonishment. Rose chanced a peek over her shoulder to find Scorpius grinning at both his parents, totally unabashed. 

“Not at all, Mrs Malfoy. Thank you for inviting me,” Rose found she had to resist a peculiar urge to curtsey.

“_Astoria_, please,” the older woman added with a breath-taking smile. “‘Mrs Malfoy’ is still my husband’s mother, to my ear. Now,” she turned to her husband, “let’s stop distracting these young people. I think Minister Finch-Fletchley has had a little too much Gillywater and may be about to fall into the koi carp pond. Shall we intervene?”

Draco’s lips twitched with amusement, “If we must. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Weasley. And Scorpius, do try and behave yourself…” he added, with a look to his son that made Rose blush right down to the tips of her toes.

She watched the Malfoys glide away into the crowds again, her brow furrowing anxiously. “Scorpius,” she started slowly, “do your parents think that we’re -,”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what they think,” he cut in, casually. “Would you like to go and ask them?”

“No!” she cried. Merlin, she couldn’t think of anything more mortifying. “Didn’t they ask you about the _Prophet _article?”

Scorpius chuckled and looked down at her, his gaze warm. “I’ll let you in on a secret: everyone in this family likes to assume they’re the cleverest one in the room, myself included. Nobody asks for information directly unless they’re absolutely forced to.”

Rose stared at him, incredulously. She thought back to her conversation with Lily that afternoon; her cousin had asked her _very _directly, multiple times, and without even a hint of subtlety about her relationship with the man now in front of her. And she could still painfully recall every second of her lunch at the Burrow, with what had felt like twelve hundred pairs of prying eyes and ears. No one in her brood knew how to keep their questions to themselves, not even her mum. The contrast was mind-boggling, as if by coming here tonight she’d entered a parallel universe. It was weirdly refreshing, everyone minding their own business.

“I’m surprised your parents wouldn’t object… _hypothetically_ speaking, of course,” she muttered quietly, sipping her glass of bubbles and watching Scorpius’ father clap a hand over the Minister for Magical Transport’s shoulder, steering him safely away from the water’s edge.

Scorpius looked down at her in surprise, “And what, hypothetically, would they have to object to?”

Rose met his gaze and arched an eyebrow. “Well, _me_, I suppose. Hypothetically_._”

A smirk flitted at the corner of his mouth, reminding Rose very much of his elder. “To object to you would make them hypothetically morons,” he muttered, smoothly.

Rose stared up at him for just a moment too long and felt her pulse-point jump nervously under his careful scrutiny. There was a heat to his gaze that was turning his irises the colour of thunder clouds. Rose clutched at her cold glass tightly, willing it to reduce the warmth that was beginning to creep along her skin. She cleared her throat and adjusted the silver bracelet tied at her wrist, “I believe I was promised megalomaniacs?”

Scorpius blinked at her, “What?”

“You said there’d be small talk, investors and shareholders and such. Aren’t we meant to be ‘networking’ or whatever you business folk call it?” she gestured loosely at the surrounding crowds, her heartbeat still racing beneath her sternum.

“Yes. Right. Of course,” Scorpius glanced around in surprise, as if he’d somehow forgotten anyone else was there. “I suppose the Vice Chairman of the company must pay his dues,” he grinned at her. “I’ll let you escape and find the bar, or if you want directions to the kitchens, Flimsy the House-Elf can make you a mean dirty martini.”

Rose giggled at the very notion, “Where on Earth did she learn a thing like that?”

Scorpius shrugged cheerfully, “Ever since your mum emancipated them all, who knows what they get up to in their free time. Unless…” he paused, looking at her uncertainly, “Unless you’d like to keep me company? Be my partner in crime for a bit?”

She pretended to think on it for a second then rolled her eyes at him, “Isn’t that why I came?”

Honestly, Rose thought, it was as if she’d just told the man that Slytherin house had somehow qualified for the Quidditch World Cup, the way his face broke out into such an almighty grin. The dimple in his left cheek had a nasty habit of making her feel woozy if she looked at it directly and so she glanced away, looking around the throng of people all dressed in their fineries, and asked, “So, where do we start?”

For the best part of an hour, Scorpius made his rounds amongst the guests. Shaking hands, slapping backs, and kissing the cheeks of the various witches and wizards who had invested their money in the ventures of he and his father. Rose remained dutifully at his side throughout, watching in fascination as he went to work. He introduced her, courteously, to every new face – sometimes just as ‘Rose’, sometimes as ‘my friend, Rose’, and on one awkward yet exhilarating occasion as ‘Rose, my… my Rose’. (She had given him a funny look and he had flushed pink at the slip up.)

The conversations were always extremely dull, as they chit-chatted about quarterly returns and investment portfolios, and Rose might have found the whole ordeal incredibly tedious, had it not been for Scorpius’ hand resting firmly against the hollow of her back, and his thumb, which had begun to trace a pattern of small, lazy circles against the velvet of her dress. She wasn’t entirely sure that he even knew he was doing it. Certainly, he gave the impression of being entirely focused on his guests. But with each little brush of his fingers, Rose could feel the hairs on the back of her neck and arms standing up, and a heat, low in her belly, begin to simmer and pulse. She found herself inching closer to his side, till her hip pressed lightly against his. She started reaching out to touch him, mid-conversation – a casual hand on his arm, here or there. And when he grabbed them another few drinks from a nearby tray, her fingers seemed to linger an extra second or two over his as he passed her the glass.

Rose had never _ever _thought of herself as a flirt. It was almost as if her body were acting without her permission, simply responding to him in all these small ways, and she didn’t know how to stop herself. It would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t for the way he seemed to be responding to her, too. She’d stopped pretending to ignore the way he looked at her, or the way he angled himself around her – just a little too close to be entirely innocent. Being so near to him whilst also being surrounded by so many other people was starting to get a little frustrating.

And so, when Scorpius finally whispered in her ear that they’d done enough ‘schmoozing’ for the night and suggested going in search of that House-Elf made martini, Rose found herself agreeing so readily that it brought a smirk to his face. They quickly bid their goodbyes to those around them and, when Scorpius took her hand in his without asking, she didn’t even think to scowl at him. She let him lead her away from the party and back up the stone steps towards the house, only mildly aware of the interested stares they were receiving from a number of the other guests.

“I think they liked you,” Scorpius muttered, nodding towards his parents who were currently making small talk with someone who may or may not have been a member of a foreign royal family.

Rose grinned at him, “Then they’re both excellent judges of character.”

“They certainly are,” he nodded with a smile, “In fact, they had Al pinned for the idiot that he is within five minutes of meeting him.”

Rose couldn’t help but laugh. Until, that is, she felt Scorpius’ thumb rub across the back of her hand and the sound died in her throat. That fluttering in her lower belly was growing more and more insistent.

As it turned out, Flimsy the House-Elf could not only make a mean dirty martini, but she also took requests. Scorpius procured himself an Old Fashioned and a Tom Collins – heavy on the lemon juice – for Rose, before taking her by the hand again and leading her towards a different part of the house. Rose sipped on her drink, noting that the further into the Manor they went, the less formal the décor. Here, rather than portraits, there were family photographs adorning the walls. She spotted one of the Malfoys looking devastatingly attractive on what must have been their wedding day, one of Scorpius as a pompous toddler chasing – inexplicably – a white peacock, and another of him as an eleven-year-old, proudly showing off his new Hogwarts robes. She could picture an almost identical one of herself, hanging up in the downstairs loo of the Burrow; perhaps they hadn’t been so different back then, after all.

Scorpius finally came to a halt in front of a set of mahogany doors and turned to face her, his hands hovering on the door handles. He fixed her with a serious stare. “I would like you to know that in about ten seconds time, you – Rose Weasley – will be the very first woman to ever enter this room. Not even my own mother has been invited inside. You should consider yourself entirely honoured.”

Rose promptly rolled her eyes at him, unimpressed, and took another sip of her drink, “Always with the dramatics, Malfoy. I take it from that description that we’ve stumbled upon your teenage bedroom?”

“You wish,” he fixed her with a mock glare before flinging open the doors with a flourish. “Welcome to, in my somewhat biased opinion, the most important room in the whole house.”

Rose peeked her head inside the door, cautiously. She was half expecting to discover that Scorpius was in fact a mass murderer and this was where he kept the bodies. What she found, however, made perfect sense, and she could see exactly why he and Albus would consider this their favourite room in a Manor which probably boasted some of the finest works of art, literature and House Elf cooking this side of Kent.

It was a games room. Not that dissimilar to the one her Uncle George had set up in his garage a few years ago – although arguably better furnished and with significantly less spiders, she imagined. The centre of the room was occupied by a large muggle snooker table, whilst a mahogany card table with a green felt inlay was set up for a round of exploding snap beside the fireplace. A Wizard’s Chess set beckoned from the far corner and a darts board – the Wizarding variety, she noted, from the way one of the darts was fluttering its wings and trying to dislodge itself from the bullseye – had been tacked up beside the door. The entire room was decorated with various sports memorabilia, with the jerseys of all the major teams from the British & Irish Quidditch league dotted about the walls. Right in the middle, she noticed, was the trademark green and silver uniform of the Slytherin house Quidditch team; the name ‘Malfoy’ proudly emblazoned above the number 5.

She quirked an eyebrow and glanced sideways at him. “Let me guess, that’s your sixth-year uniform, isn’t it?” Scorpius simply grinned at her. Their sixth year at school had been the only time Slytherin had won the Quidditch Cup whilst Scorpius had been their first-choice Keeper. They’d lost the title the following year to Hufflepuff – a fact that Rose still enjoyed bringing up around Al whenever the opportunity presented itself.

“Why am I not surprised that you have such a self-indulgent man cave?” Rose laughed, shaking her head in exasperation at the immaturity of grown men.

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” Scorpius shot her a wicked grin, heading over to a nearby sideboard and opening a cabinet door to reveal a very well-stocked bar, complete with the same brand of vodka he kept at his office. Rose had barely finished her cocktail by the time he was pressing a glass full of the stuff into her other hand.

“Did you just bring me here to get drunk again, Malfoy?” If so, Rose thought to herself, she would happily oblige.

“Though that would hardly be an unwelcome outcome…” he smirked conspiratorially, watching as she explored the room, “I was actually going to propose a wager.”

Rose snorted, “Blimey, that sounds rather dangerous,” she muttered, letting her fingers drift over the smooth marble chess pieces as she passed.

Scorpius cocked his head to one side. “Oh, come on. I thought all you Auror-types loved a little excitement? Stupefy first, ask questions later, that sort of thing.”

She offered him a withering glare. “Right, and you’d want to challenge me – the so-called professional dare devil – because…?”

“Let’s just say that I’m a business man who enjoys a calculated risk,” he sipped at his drink, eyeing her hotly over the rim of the glass.

Rose distracted herself by testing the sharpness of one of the dart needles against the pulp of her thumb. If she had to endure that look on his face any longer, she was worried she might just start taking her clothes off right there and then. She cleared her throat, “And other than the thrill of totally annihilating you, right here in your little palace of ego, what’s in it for me, exactly?”

He pretended to think for a moment, “Well, we pick a game and, if I win, then you’ll owe me a favour. Meaning I can ask you for anything I want, and you can’t say no. And if you win -,”

“_When_ I win.”

“- you’ll get to claim a favour from me, which I cannot refuse.” He leant back against the edge of the sideboard, hands dipping casually into his pockets as he continued to observe her.

Rose tried to keep her face impassive as her mind frantically began to risk assess the various compromising positions she might find herself in, left to the mercy of Scorpius’ whim should he be the victor. She could practically feel the blush that pinked her cheeks at some of her more fanciful imaginings. Equally, she had to admit, if she were to win, the prospect of having Scorpius totally at her disposal certainly had interesting potential…

“I’ll even give you the advantage if you like,” Malfoy offered, impatiently, cutting through her cloud of rapidly fogging hormones, “I’ll let you choose the game. So, what do you say, Weasley?”

Rose’s gaze flicked up to his face, her caerulean eyes narrowing at the smirk she found there, before she squared her shoulders decisively. “I say game on, Malfoy. And may the best woman win.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes before we start this chapter: the details of the game that is played here are loosely based on the little information I could find out there in the Potterverse. It is actually described in most detail in relation to the Hogwarts Mystery mobile app game (believe it or not), so is as dutifully canon as I could possibly make it!
> 
> And a warning: I have not changed the official rating for the story solely based on this chapter, however reader discretion is advised as we head into slightly more mature territory here.

Staring at the predatory smirk currently gracing Scorpius Malfoy’s face, Rose Weasley was rapidly learning the true meaning of instantaneous regret.

Potentially owing Scorpius an irrefusable favour was like agreeing to go on a blind date set up by Lily, or trying to keep up with Fred and Dominique on a night down at The Three Broomsticks: absolutely no good could possibly come of it. A fact Rose had learned the hard way about both the aforementioned examples at one time or another. 

And yet it was too late for sensibilities now. Rose had agreed to his challenge, quite fervently in fact (_“Game on, Malfoy. And may the best woman win.”_), and there was no backing out of it. Besides – she bit the inside of her cheek to distract herself from the not-wholly-unpleasant thrum she felt beneath her ribcage every time she caught Scorpius watching her from across the room – she actually wanted to play. She wanted to beat him, naturally, because he was an arrogant prat. But, to her unending surprise, she was almost as excited for the possibility that he might win, and what he might demand from her. The drinks in her system, her hormone-addled brain and that aching sensation that pulsed erratically behind her navel, all had several unhelpful suggestions of their own as to what he might ask for, and what she’d be embarrassingly willing to concede.

Rose swallowed dryly and forced herself to think clearly. They were, after all, about to enter a battlefield of sorts. But she had the advantage, or so he had claimed: she could choose their arena. That, at least, was an easy decision and she started towards the Wizard’s Chess set in the far corner of the room.

“One final rule,” came his amused drawl, her heart sinking with it as a hand encircled her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Chess is out of the running, I’m afraid.”

She whirled around to face him, eyes narrowing. “Malfoy, you can’t seriously be cheating before the games even begun? You said I could choose what we played, and I choose chess.”

He simply grinned at her, not yet relinquishing his hold on her arm. “You forget, Rosie, that I know who raised you. If you think I’m going to let myself be checkmated in three moves by Ron Weasley’s protégé daughter, then you are sorely mistaken. Chess is off limits and that’s the end of it.”

Rose’s urge to thump him was quickly diminished by the light stroking of his thumb along the inside of her wrist. Distracted, she flicked her gaze up to meet his, his attempt at playing innocent entirely ruined by the devious smirk twitching at his lower lip. Rose set her jaw firmly, tearing her gaze and – rather more reluctantly – her hand from his grasp and glanced about the room. Fine, she grumbled internally, if chess was suddenly embargoed, what other options did that leave her with?

The snooker table dominated the centre of the floor – she’d played once or twice when she’d spent time with her muggle grandparents but couldn’t say she had any particular skill at it. The same went for Wizarding Darts, although at least if she lost at that she could perhaps physically threaten Scorpius into going easy on her with one of the sharp needles. She’d also spied a stack of board games hiding underneath a sofa, but she’d played Monopoly at the Grangers’ too and it had taken _hours_. She highly doubted her nerves would last her that long, plus Scorpius was actually a business owner in the wizarding equivalent of the fortune five hundred, whilst she could barely remember to pay her rent on time. It didn’t seem wise to challenge him at a game involving the rapid exchanging of money, even if the notes were fake and there was the enticing possibility that she might get to send him to jail. So, what did that leave her with?

Taking a large gulp of her drink for courage, Rose turned to Scorpius and raised her chin defiantly, “I propose a game of…. Exploding Snap!”

Scorpius choked on his vodka. “Snap?! Really, Weasley?! Of all the things you could have chosen… Sweet Salazar, a round of croquet might have been more exciting -,”

“What’s the matter, Malfoy, scared I’m going to beat you?” she cocked her head.

“Not at all,” he narrowed his eyes and mirrored her smirk, “I just hadn’t realised that I’d been attempting to seduce a child masquerading in a woman’s body, all this time.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Don’t be coy, Weasley. I’ve been trying to seduce you since we were seventeen, and you know it,” he knocked her shoulder playfully as he strode past her towards the card table. “Now sit yourself down and deal.”

Rose knew absolutely no such thing and, if she hadn’t been almost entirely sure that Scorpius was simply trying to distract her and throw her off her game, she would have pressed him on the matter unrelentingly. Seduce her, indeed! They’d been at each other’s throats at seventeen – in fact, she could distinctly remember throwing a Bubotuber bulb at his head in one of their seventh year Herbology classes (the reasoning behind it escaped her now but she was sure it had been entirely justified). He had retaliated by locking her in the girls’ lavatories with Moaning Myrtle for the night. Albus had been distinctly non-plussed with the pair of them.

Sitting down across from him, Rose offered him a glare to let him know how unappreciative she was of his underhanded tactics. “Standard or Bavarian rules?” she muttered, curtly.

“Ladies choice,” Scorpius slid the deck of cards towards her. She felt his knee bump against hers beneath the table and flinched. He was not about to make this easy for her, she realised.

“Bavarian, then,” she said, and watched as the picture images on the cards immediately rearranged themselves accordingly. “How do you want to do this? A straight shoot-out or best out of three?”

“Oh, I think best out of three, don’t you?” he grinned at her as he slipped off his blue dress-robe, tossing it across the back of an empty chair and rolling up the sleeves of his white oxford. She narrowed her eyes at him, getting the distinct impression he enjoyed the idea of potentially prolonging her suffering. “You do remember the terms, don’t you, Rosie?” his hand shot out, brushing against hers and making her almost drop the cards in her grasp. “Whoever wins gets to ask for one favour, literally anything their heart desires, and the loser cannot refuse.”

Rose’s breath quickened under his mercurial gaze, her core temperature sky-rocketing. She did her best to roll her eyes at him and swallowed thickly, “‘_Anything my heart desires’_ – For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy, remind me to cancel your _Witch Weekly _subscription before your brain entirely turns to mush. Next thing I know, you’ll be using this so-called favour to force me into listening to your misguided attempts at poetry.”

He chuckled darkly and raised one cocksure eyebrow. “Rest assured, Weasley, I have slightly more ambitious plans for my favour, when I win.”

Her eyes followed the curve of his indecent grin and she felt that ache behind her navel migrating southward, beginning to throb at the apex of her thighs. Forcing her attention back to the game, her embarrassingly shaky hands began to deal, dishing out the entire deck in equal amounts between them – the cards giving off little wisps of smoke and the odd spark here and there as they warmed up in her hands.

“Left of the dealer to play first,” Rose nodded at Scorpius, the set in her hand thrumming slightly as if in anticipation itself. “Good luck, Scorpius.”

“Almost sounds like you want me to win,” he muttered, teasingly, and turned over his first card, “Seven chizpurfles.”

Rose followed suit with a withering eye roll, “You’re deluding yourself if you think I want anything but to totally annihilate you. Five bowtruckles.”

He sniggered, “Three crups.”

“Eight nifflers,” and so the game began. The rules were straightforward even if the stakes were not – should two cards showing the same number of creatures be played one after the other, the first player to call ‘snap’ by placing a hand on top of the discarded deck would win the round. Then, as was customary with most children’s games in the wizarding world, the cards would spontaneously combust at serious risk to life and limb. Rose had played the game countless times when she was younger, although oddly she had never found it quite so hard to concentrate or so nerve-wracking before. She suspected that had a great deal to do with her opponent, who was firmly inside her head in more ways than one. Part of her wanted to wipe the floor with him, whilst another (annoyingly insistent) part wanted to let him bend her over the card table and finally do something about her unwholesome urges. 

With each passing turn, it was if the cards themselves were getting more and more excited. Rose felt them growing warm in her hands, Malfoy’s set had started to smoke rather concerningly, and she even got an electric shock as she played two bowtruckles on top of Scorpius’ twelve nifflers. She was just wondering whether the game somehow absorbed the players’ own building tensions when she felt Scorpius’ knee sliding between hers beneath the table. Rose’s breath hitched as a shudder escaped her, eyes darting up to his face to find him entirely concentrated on the game. Then she felt his foot – somehow bereft of its shoe – stroke purposefully along the outside of her ankle and knew he was up to no good. Her toes curled reflexively and she bit back a gasp.

“Seven bowtruckles,” Scorpius muttered, impassively, tossing another card down on the building pile, his stare locking with hers. 

Rose frowned and tried to focus on the cards in her hands, even as she felt his knee push forward deliberately, hitching her dress further up her thighs as it went. That ache at her core had started to pulse expectantly. “F-four chizpurfles,” she stuttered, trying to kick his foot away to no avail. His knee pressed insistently, dangerously, against her upper thigh. “Malfoy, what on… what on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Two grindylows. Don’t worry about what I’m doing. Worry about why you’re worried about what I’m doing,” he muttered, casually, his foot beginning to gently nudge her legs apart.

Rose glowered at him, but was having a hard-enough time concentrating as it was without starting to unpick that nonsense. Instead, she tried to squeeze her knees together, but her lower half seemed to have stopped responding to her brain’s instructions. “Six… six crups,” she breathed, heavily.

“Eleven nifflers.” His leg slid tantalisingly close to the meeting of her thighs, and still his face remained impassive.

“Nine grindylo-…” she trailed off as she felt a hand ghost across her bare knee. “S-scorpius -,”

“Nine chizpurfles, SNAP!”

Regaining her senses just in time, Rose blinked, aghast, as Scorpius slammed his palm down on the deck, milliseconds before the cards erupted in a small, controlled explosion in front of them. She glared at him through the subsequent plume of smoke, her cheeks deepening in colour: “You git!” she managed to choke out. “You completely distracted me, that’s cheating!”

He fixed her with a smug grin and a shrug, “Is it? I don’t recall ever discussing exactly what tactics were and were not acceptable…”

Rose stared at him incredulously, “Typical Slytherin! Trust a snake to need _clarification _on whether cheating is against the rules!”

“Ah, well I never claimed to play fair, did I? Besides, I let you choose the game, it’s hardly my fault if you’re not very good at it -,”

Rose’s blue eyes flashed, furiously. “Well, I might’ve been a little less distracted if you hadn’t been molesting me underneath the table!” she swatted at his leg which was still pressing, unrelentingly, against hers. He hadn’t moved it away even now. 

“You say molesting, I say merely stretching my legs. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m actually very tall,” he offered her a wicked grin.

Rose had noticed this. She had also noticed that he filled out his shirt rather nicely, that he always smelled weirdly good and that at some point in the evening he had run a hand through his hair leaving it looking wantonly tussled. But none of this had anything to do with the fact that he was also a cheating git.

“You know what?” she snapped, tossing her remaining cards onto the table. “If that’s the way you want to play, then so be it. Round two - your deal, Malfoy. The gloves are coming off.”

His grin widened, “That’s the spirit, Weasley. Besides, best out of three remember? I’ve not brought you to your knees just yet...” She steadfastly avoided rising to his self-satisfied smirk.

The next round started much the same. The cards, reassembled, hummed excitedly in their palms. Scorpius winked at her, she glared back. “Three grindylows,” she slapped it down with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

“Ten bowtruckles.”

“Two nifflers.”

“Nine crups.”

“Six bowtruckles.”

“Eleven chizpurfles.”

As Rose went to play her next card, she absentmindedly dislodged some of her pinned curls, her usual swathes of red hair tumbling loose across her shoulders. “Five crups,” she muttered.

“Nine grindylows.”

“Four nifflers,” she twisted an errant curl around her finger, her hand drifting along her collarbone and carelessly brushing one velvet dress strap over the curve of her shoulder.

Scorpius frowned but said nothing. “…Eight bowtruckles.”

“Ten nifflers.”

“Six crups.”

“Five chizpurfles,” Rose leant forward to place her card on the growing pile – the angle giving Scorpius a momentary glimpse of the swell of her cleavage. She leant back in her chair and chewed on her bottom lip, thoughtfully.

Scorpius took a slow second to respond: “Er, seven grindylows.”

Rose pouted and leant across again, feigning obliviousness as his gaze was, predictably, drawn once more to the low cut of her dress. “Twelve bowtruckles,” she locked eyes with him, lifting one eyebrow suggestively. He swallowed quickly, tossing a card carelessly onto the table. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked after a moment.

“What?” Scorpius blinked, eyes temporarily unfocused, and cleared his throat. “Oh, er, nine crups.”

She laughed, “Those are chizpurfles.”

“Crups, chizpurfles, could be a swarm of vampire bats for all I care – whatever, your turn,” he scowled.

Rose smirked and pulled another card from her hand, “Something ruffled your feathers, Malfoy?” she placed it carefully atop the pile. “Four grindylows.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she couldn’t help noticing how his breathing seemed to falter as the tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Now who’s not playing fair?” he muttered, tersely, “Seven nifflers,”

“Turnabout _is _fair play, or however the saying goes,” she smiled wickedly, subtly squeezing her arms together and causing her chest to strain against its velvet confines, earning a guttural noise from somewhere in Scorpius’ throat that made her stomach clench in pleasure. “Three bowtruckles,” she added, breezily.

Scorpius looked as if he’d forgotten they were even playing a game to begin with. Leaning forward, eyes darting up from her dress to her lips, his skin flushed, “Be careful, Weasley -,” 

“Your turn, Malfoy,” she cut him off, teasingly, adding: “I thought you were trying to bring me to my knees? Although I suppose there are more ways than one to achieve that…”

Scorpius’ gaze entirely clouded over. Reflexively he threw a card down on the table before reaching out towards her, but Rose had spotted the card he’d just played and dodged his grip to bring her palm down on the pile – “Three nifflers! SNAP!” she cried, happily. 

Scorpius froze, half out of his seat on his way over the table towards her, and glared down at their game. “Bollocks,” he hissed, momentarily stalled. He glanced between the cards – which had summarily exploded again after Rose’s victory and were now smouldering in a heap – and back to his opponent, eyes once again dropping to her lips. He inched fractionally closer and Rose felt her heart hammering behind her ribs, before he seemed to think better of it and sat back in his seat with a grimace.

“Touché, Weasley. But you’re not going to get me to forfeit that easily.”

Rose snorted in amusement. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she grinned at him, “but now you know, you’re not the only one who can play dirty.”

“Hm,” he grumbled, wafting away the lingering wisps of smoke from their last game, “and now I also know what a wretched tease you are.”

Rose arched one slim eyebrow, “You started it,” and tried to pretend she wasn’t immensely pleased to see how flustered she’d made him. “Anyway, that makes it one all by my count. Final round, winner takes all.”

As if still trying to rouse himself, Scorpius ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it delectably, and sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Fine. But we play this one straight, no teasing -,”

“No molesting -,” she kicked his foot gently.

“Everyone keeps their hands to themselves,” he caught her eye and grinned, “…for now, at least.”

Rose could only imagine how pink her cheeks must be, a little shiver of excitement reigniting that heat in her lower belly. She held his gaze, that gun-metal grey glinting back at her with a look that promised far more than she dared to admit she wanted. It was a look that she’d seen before, when they’d been at the dingy muggle pub the previous evening, only she hadn’t understood what it meant then. Now, it made her want to throw all of her cards down on the table and say wager be damned – he could have his favour, and _her_, to do exactly as he pleased with. 

But Rose had far too much of a competitive streak to roll over quite so easily…

True to his word, as she began to shuffle and deal the cards for their final round – her shaky hands making a fine mess of it this time – Scorpius withdrew his leg from where it was still nestled against hers. Rose almost groaned at the loss of contact between them; she literally ached for him. How embarrassing, came the voice of the very last shred of sanity she possessed. Taking a deep breath to try and compose herself, she silently begged her hormones not to let her totally unravel just yet.

“Scared, Weasley?” Scorpius grinned, mistaking her hesitancy for apprehension and tilting his head to one side in that infuriating way of his.

She narrowed her eyes, playfully. “Of certain things, yes, but you are not one of them.”

“Such fighting talk! Guess I won’t go easy on you after all,” he chuckled. “Five crups,” he threw down his first card like a gauntlet.

“Ten grindylows,” she followed quickly behind.

“Four chizpurfles.”

“Eight crups.”

“Three nifflers.” The cards flew thick and fast, each party keeping their wandering hands to themselves, their clothes firmly on and their focus unwavering.

“Twelve nifflers.”

“Ten chizpurfles.”

“Two bowtruckles.”

The cards began to fizzle and spit in their hands. Rose was finding it hard to keep hold of hers at all as the edges began to scold her fingertips, the tension mounting with each passing turn.

“Nine grindylows.”

“Eleven crups.”

“Two grindylows.”

“Five chizpurfles.” Rose could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She was fairly sure she’d started holding her breath when the round began and, if someone didn’t call it soon, she’d be in real danger of passing out from lack of oxygen.

“Two crups.”

“Six nifflers.”

“Four grindylows.”

“Seven bowtruckles.”

“Seven grindy-,”

“SNAP!” Knuckles bumping, fingers entangling, they both dived forward over the table, bringing their hands down on the deck at the exact same time. It was a wonder they avoided crashing their heads together.

“Malfoy, get off!” screeched Rose. “I saw it, I called it first!” she glared at him, furiously.

“Au contraire,” he smirked back at her, unkindly, “My hand’s underneath, meaning _I _got there first! I win and you lose, Weasley.”

Rose glared down at their hands, entwined atop the discarded cards, her heart sinking when she realised the smarmy git was right. She was about to shout something very loud and unladylike when a sudden bang and a snarled curse beat her to it. Their set of Exploding Snap had – rather unsurprisingly when she thought about it later – _exploded_, singeing Rose’s dress and scalding Scorpius’ hand in the process.

“_Bugger_,” he hissed, snatching his hand away from the very real flames just a second too late.

Rose was momentarily startled, scowling at the newly charred spots of velvet (Helga’s tits, Lily was going to _Bat Bogey Hex _her into oblivion for that), before rousing herself just in time to grab Scorpius’ cloak from the back of the chair and smother the miniature pyre before the felt inlay of the table could catch alight. Only now wondering why she decided to attend tonight wandless, she then turned quickly towards him.

“Let me see,” she demanded, grabbing his hand to assess his injuries – a raw, bright red burn mark was already shining along the length of his index finger. Scorpius grimaced in pain, and with no wand at her disposal to cast a cooling charm and no source of cold water anywhere in sight, Rose did the only thing she could think of to help – she sucked his finger into her mouth, trying to salve the wound. The idea was a reasonable one, in principle. She’d done her basic first aid training as part of the Auror programme and she knew it would help to reduce the pain if she could soothe the heat of the burn. What she hadn’t fully considered, however, was how Scorpius would react to having her lips, very literally, wrapped around a part of him.

It was the taste of him that brought Rose to her senses: something reminiscent of sea salt and mint. Her eyes growing wide, she glanced up at him, his finger still between her lips, to find him staring at her so intently that she momentarily forgot how to breathe. His skin was flushed, bringing an unusual amount of colour to his pale skin. It made him look more alive, more touchable somehow. His pupils were blown wide, gaze locked on hers, but he held his body rigidly, almost as if he were awaiting permission to move.

Rose’s pulse hammered in her ears as she stared back at him. Hesitantly, she let go of his hand, his finger slipping from her mouth, wet and glistening. “S-sorry…” she murmured. “I was just… trying to -,” But whatever sentence she was planning on stringing together was wasted on deaf ears.

Scorpius closed the distance between them in a fraction of a second, grabbing a handful of velvet as he tethered himself to her. Rose just about managed a sharp intake of air before all breathing became a physical impossibility – Scorpius’ mouth found hers and her eyelids fluttered shut at the sudden and overwhelming tidal wave of sensations. The pressure of him against her, the warmth and smell of his skin closer than ever before, the way his lips claimed hers – coaxing, determined, unrelenting. She felt in equal parts thrilled and irrationally annoyed to discover he was such a bloody fantastic kisser.

Rose stumbled backwards and he followed, not relinquishing his hold, until they bumped against the snooker table. Scorpius’ kiss grew more insistent, and any protests she might have had became incoherent thought as she parted her lips for him; the low groan that escaped him as he tasted her for the first time making her physically tremble with want.

“_Fuck_… Rose,” he murmured against her lips, the slight tremor in his voice emboldening her enough to slide her arms over his shoulders, bringing their bodies flush against one another. He felt fantastic, firm and warm and toned, and she got a sense of exactly how much he wanted her as their hips aligned. A shuddering gasp – whether from him, or herself (or more likely the both of them), she couldn’t tell.

The hand at her waist slid to her thigh and she was swiftly lifted the necessary few inches until her bum rested on the edge of the table. Scorpius stepped between her legs and bent his head to her neck, making Rose’s back arch and press her chest more firmly against him. He groaned against her skin, teeth nipping gently at her pulse point before his tongue darted out to soothe.

Rose felt as if every inch of her was on fire. There wasn’t a millimetre of space between them and yet there was still too much, too many layers, too many barriers. She felt his hand come to rest on her knee, slipping just beneath the fabric of her dress, and she let out an involuntary whimper. He smirked, evidently pleased with himself, and Rose somehow found the coherency to glare at him before she grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled his mouth back down to hers.

It wasn’t a soft kiss or a romantic one. It wasn’t light and teasing or slow and careful. It was lust and urges and – _Gods, _she needed him to move that hand higher! Their tongues weren’t so much languid and caressing as physically fighting for dominance over the territory that was their mouths. Rose couldn’t remember ever having been kissed like this before. She’d had kisses – more than a few in fact – but none that had made her forget the day of the week, where she was, and even her own name like this one had in a matter of seconds. 

All too soon for her liking he broke contact, pressing his forehead against hers as he tried to steady his breathing, and looked at her through hooded eyes. Rose could do nothing but stare at him. His lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone – she had no recollection of even doing that. And, oh _Merlin, _she needed to kiss him again, already. And badly. She was really in trouble here, she realised, belatedly.

His hand squeezed her thigh, “Rosie, I -… I want…” he ground out, apparently struggling to restrain himself long enough to find the words.

Rose bit her bottom lip, “Me too,” she admitted, breathlessly. And that was all the encouragement he needed.

Letting out something between a longing groan and a sigh of relief, Scorpius quickly claimed her lips again. A little less desperate this time, a little more sure of himself, knowing that they had time – that she wasn’t about to push him away or hex him into oblivion. Both hands came up to frame her face as he explored her mouth, but that was far from where Rose really wanted them. Entangling her fingers with his, she tugged one hand down over her neck, over her collarbone, until he was cupping her breast. She felt him grin against her lips at her boldness and she would have had half a mind to kick him in the shins for being a prat if he hadn’t also chosen, in that same moment, to press himself more firmly between her legs.

Rose’s few remaining reservations entirely disintegrated as her body reacted to the two new delicious pressure points. The hum at her centre flared into life, becoming an unbridled roar of need and arousal as Scorpius stroked his thumb across the swell of her breast, feeling the sensitive peaks stiffen beneath her dress. Almost involuntarily, she canted her hips towards him, revelling in Scorpius’ hiss of pleasure at the friction she created. She could feel him, _all _of him, pressed against her upper thigh, nudging towards her core, and she was acutely aware of how ready she was for him already. She was painfully concious of the damp spot that had begun to form in her knickers almost as soon as she’d laid eyes on him earlier that evening, and – she realised – he would be about to discover it too, as his hand began to brush her dress up and over her knees.

The thought brought with it a sudden flash of clarity and Rose pulled away from him, breathlessly. She didn’t want to stop – _Sweet Helga, _she’d rather sell her left kidney down Knockturn Alley than put a stop to whatever this was – but she equally felt a little over-exposed in their current environment.

“Scorpius,” she raised a firm hand to his chest as he attempted to bring her mouth back to his, “I think… I mean, do you want to -,”

“Yes,” he answered, eagerly.

Rose chuckled softly and ran a hand through her dishevelled curls, “You don’t even know what I’m going to say, yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shook his head brusquely, still intently staring at her bruised lips. “With you, the answer is always yes.”

Rose blinked up at him. She found herself momentarily distracted from the aches and needs of her inner wanton woman by the sudden clench of her heart beneath her ribs. She let out a slow breath and tried to re-orientate herself – not an easy task when your stomach becomes unexpectedly invaded by a horde of chaotic butterflies. “I was going to suggest we went back to the flat…?” she bit her lip, feeling unduly shy in the moment.

But she needn’t have worried – Scorpius grinned back at her, wolfishly. “If it’s a more comfortable surface that you’re after, you know there are at least twelve different bedrooms in this house, right?”

Rose felt her blush surge to the tips of her ears and rolled her eyes, “Yes, and all of them are within a hundred yards of both of your parents, not to mention half of the Wizengamot and the Dutch Crown Princess, who all happen to be milling around your garden at this particular moment.”

“I take your point,” Scorpius conceded cheerfully, absentmindedly trailing a hand down over her hips to palm her bum. “So, my place or yours?”

Rose frowned, trying to form a coherent thought as he brought his mouth back to that sensitive spot just below her jaw. “I - …I thought your flat wasn’t on the Floo network yet?”

Scorpius blinked quickly, lips pausing somewhere around her earlobe. “Er, right, of course it isn’t. Your place it is then!”

A sudden, niggling feeling caused Rose’s frown to deepen and she was about to enquire how long ago it was that he’d actually submitted his Floo application to the Transportation Department, when Scorpius cut her off with another intense kiss. He ground himself against her thigh, instantly reminding her of the more important matters at hand, and Rose quickly decided her concerns over a potential bureaucratic cock-up could most certainly wait until morning, at least. 

With a final toe-curling, nerve shattering, forget-how-to-breathe kiss, Rose allowed herself to be dragged down from her perch on the table and swiftly out into the corridor – practically tripping over herself and her heels trying to keep up with Scorpius’ long strides as he pulled her along behind him, evidently in something of a hurry himself. And, in absolutely no time at all, she found herself standing in front of the large fireplace in the Manor’s entrance hall once again.

She made to step into the grate when Scorpius’ stopped her with a light tug on her hand. “Last chance, Weasley,” he asked, an uncharacteristic seriousness to his voice that made her eyes widen in surprise. “Last chance to stop this. Say the word now and I’ll let you leave on your own, otherwise…” he trailed off with a look that made Rose grip the mantlepiece for fear her knees might give out.

She peered up at him from beneath thick eyelashes for a moment, then slowly stepped backwards, away from him, into the fireplace. His face fell, momentarily devastated, before she grinned and cocked her head at him: “Get in here, you melodramatic ponce, before I change my mind.”

He didn’t need asking twice. Scorpius clambered into the fireplace beside her, muttering something about her being a wretched harpy under his breath, and barely giving her enough time to actually call out the address before smothering her lips again as the flames turned green around them.


	9. Chapter 9

A week ago, if anyone had told Rose that she’d be kissing (read: snogging the life out of) Scorpius Malfoy, the bloke she had essentially loathed for the best part of a decade, she would have had them committed straight to the Janus Thickey Ward for Permanent Spell Damage at St Mungo’s without further ado. As it turned out, however, they would have been spot on the money with such a prediction, and all she had to say for herself was why on Earth had no one told her to snog him silly sooner?

As the green flames of the Floo leapt up to lick around her ankles and the familiar rush of air whipped her curls from her shoulders, all Rose was truly aware of was the weight of Scorpius’ arms draped around her waist, the brush of his stubble against her cheek and the unholy sweep of his tongue as he begged for entrance at her lips.

Eyes tightly shut to keep out the soot – basic Floo travel tips 101 – Rose trailed a hand down the front of his shirt, fingers lingering purposefully over his belt buckle, and revelled in the low growl that escaped him. Scorpius coiled his arm more tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and refused to relinquish his claim on her mouth. _Gods, _the way his tongue toyed languidly with hers, teeth nipping gently at her lower lip as his fingers brushed teasingly over her hipbone. It made her wonder what other particular talents he might possess and that she might be able to look forward to, as soon as they made it back to the privacy of the flat.

As lost in him as she was, she failed to even noticed when the wind stopped blowing and the shimmering lights of the other Floo points on the network stopped blurring past them. She was vaguely aware that Scorpius was moving them, still entwined, trying to angle her out of the fireplace. Rose’s only response was to tighten her grip on his hair. She felt him grin against her lips, chuckling softly, and the next thing she knew she was being lifted – her thighs instinctively wrapping themselves around his hips – as he attempted to manhandle her towards the bedroom.

That was when they heard the woeful sob emanating from the couch in the middle of the living room.

They froze – Scorpius coming to a sudden stop where he stood, his hands on her bum keeping her upright, and Rose’s lips halting their current trail along his jawline. Eyes flying open; alarmed grey on horrified blue. In an instant, Scorpius released his hold on her and she crashed, ungracefully, into a heap on the carpet. That was the least of her concerns, however, as when she scrambled to sit upright and turned to face the apparent intruder, she was struck by two thoughts: the first, that the burglar must have brought with them a new couch, because that certainly wasn’t there earlier that morning. The second, that the body lying prone on said couch and with his face mashed into a pillow was not, in fact, a burglar at all, but her long lost roommate and cousin, Albus Potter.

Rose and Scorpius stared, chests heaving – first at Al’s seemingly lifeless body, then at each other. Talk about a bucket of cold water; Rose had to clench her teeth to stop her crying out in frustration. _Helga’s tits_, she cursed, if only she hadn’t been so insistent on leaving the Manor, she could have been getting shagged to within an inch of her life on a bloody snooker table right now. The only silver lining, it seemed, was that her cousin had failed to even notice them arriving, never mind with their hands all over each other, lost as he was in whatever mental anguish had finally driven him to go furniture shopping.

Scorpius was the first to regain his senses. “Er… Al?” he cleared his throat, wiping a smudge of Rose’s lipstick from his mouth and quickly readjusting his trousers. “Everything alright, mate?”

Albus finally looked up from his pillow, frowning at the sight of his best friend looking unduly flustered, and his cousin, still in a simpering pile on the floor at his feet.

“Don’t mind me, just tripped,” Rose muttered, batting Scorpius’ proffered hand away and climbing shakily back to her feet. “Al, we didn’t think - …I mean, _I _didn’t think you’d be home. Not that this isn’t a lovely surprise but what’s… er, what’s going on?” she subtly tugged the shoulder strap of her dress back into place.

Albus let out another wail and squashed his face back into their new couch cushions. Rose couldn’t help but notice that the latest addition to their sparse furniture collection was a hideous, bright mustard yellow colour (a suspiciously similar hue to the Falmouth Falcons home kit), but felt now wasn’t the time call him out on it. After all, beggars can’t be choosers and he also appeared to be having some sort of existential crisis.

“Potter, you’re worrying us,” Scorpius frowned, surreptitiously undoing the earlier work of Rose’s wandering hands and doing up his shirt buttons, “tell us what’s happ –,”

“I asked Emily to marry me and she said no!” came Albus’ fabric-muffled yell.

Rose and Scorpius stared at each other, slack jawed, for a moment and then exploded simultaneously: “You did what?!” “Bloody Hell, mate!”

With another mournful groan, Albus flopped onto his back, staring desolately up at the ceiling. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Oh, Al…” Rose muttered, softly, her face stricken. “When did this happen?”

Albus shrugged loosely, as if time no longer held any meaning for him. “Few hours ago? Yesterday, maybe. I don’t know.”

Rose shook her head and rubbed her eyes in frustration. Her cousin had done some idiotic things in his time, she could testify to that almost better than anyone, but proposing to a girl after a week?! But then, as Scorpius had rightly pointed out, this thing between Albus and Emily Longbottom could have been going on for far longer than either of them had realised.

She felt Scorpius shift beside her and was momentarily distracted. Her lips still tingled from all their earlier ministrations, and when she glanced over at him and saw the heated flush still colouring his cheeks, she felt her pulse flutter and her stomach swirl with unsatisfied need. Rose swallowed hard and looked away quickly. Now was definitely no longer the time.

“Right,” she muttered after a moment, shaking her head to clear it of a variety of deliciously unwholesome images. “Scorpius, make yourself useful and turn on the lights -,”

“Eurgh, no!” Al’s whine went ignored.

“- and then go and find us something to drink. There’s Ogden’s under the sink and ice in the freezer. And then, Albus Potter, you’re going to tell us exactly what happened, every excruciating detail of it!” Adding, when Scorpius had yet to move after another half second: “I meant _now_, Malfoy! Move your arse!”

The dazed blond jumped into action and, a second later, the dreary living room had once again been thrown into light. Rose curled onto her knees on the floor beside Albus’ head, vaguely aware of Scorpius now banging around in their kitchen cupboards. He wasn’t crying, she noticed, but there was a look on his face that she’d never seen on her cousin before. Al was always the jovial one of the two of them, always the happy-go-lucky cousin. His face didn’t suit the deep sadness it now wore; maybe he had been more serious about this than she’d realised. Maybe Scorpius had been right and he and Emily were… or had been… in love? That was something Rose had to admit she wasn’t familiar with, wasn’t really adept to deal with.

She gently brushed some of his unruly black hair from his forehead. “We can fix this,” she murmured gently. “Whatever’s happened, we’re going to fix it, I promise. If that’s what you want.”

Albus didn’t say a word, just looked at her mournfully. They finally got him to sit up and make room for them all on their – frankly revolting, Rose was privately furious – new sofa when Scorpius returned with the emergency bottle of Ogden’s Finest and three glasses. Rose was fairly sure that more alcohol was the last thing she or Scorpius needed at this point, given their evening so far, but raised her glass in solidarity all the same. It took about three shots worth of the potent amber liquid to get Albus talking, but when he did, it was hard to get him to stop. Rose and Scorpius sat at either end of the sofa – their mutual best friend between them – eyes growing wide as he filled in the blanks about his clandestine relationship.

As it turned out, Albus and Emily had crossed paths almost four months previously. Rose had practically snorted her drink out of her nose at this admission: four bloody months! Al had _never_ been able to keep a secret before even if his life depended on it – he was widely regarded amongst the cousins as the weak link when it came to hiding information of any sort, and wasn’t even allowed to help plan surprise birthday parties owing to his general inability to keep his mouth shut. How in Helga’s name had he managed to keep up a secret relationship for so long, and right under their noses?! Rose was well and truly gobsmacked.

Albus claimed he had come to the Auror Department one day in February looking for Rose, intent on dragging her out for lunch with him, when he’d bumped into her friend. Although he and Emily had seen each other now and then over the years at the usual parties, or whenever Rose had brought her along to something, they’d never properly got talking and certainly hadn’t spent any time alone together. Apparently, Rose had been nowhere to be found on this particular Tuesday and so, feeling uncharacteristically bold, Albus had asked if Emily had any lunch plans, instead. From that day on, they’d started seeing each other a few times a week for coffee, which turned into dinner one Saturday evening, which had then turned into going home together. After that it had become a blur of stolen moments: any spare evening, every weekend they were free was spent together. At one point they’d even gone on holiday; Albus had told everyone he was training with the Falcons and Emily had booked the time off work to supposedly visit her parents (Rose let out a strangled huff at that – she’d had to cover Emily’s extra shifts that week and could distinctly remember the suspicious tan her friend had sported on her return).

When they’d accidentally crossed paths on that fateful night out the previous week, Albus – having had one too many drinks already – hadn’t been able to resist making advances, and had to convince Scorpius that he was witnessing him finally pull the girl of his dreams for the very first time. 

“What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just tell everyone?” Rose furrowed her brow, trying to fathom her way through the duplicitous saga that was apparently her cousin’s love life. “Everyone would have been thrilled for you, you daft sod.”

Al shook his head. “That’s exactly the problem, Rosie! Our family… well, they can be a bit much. Look how everyone reacted at just the idea of you and Scorp getting together.” Rose shifted uncomfortably, unable to resist shooting a glance towards the other end of the couch. Scorpius was suddenly very busy staring at the nearest wall. “I didn’t want that kind of scrutiny for Emily and me. I knew it was something special, I had to…_protect _it, or something, I don’t know. Just for a little while.”

“You could have told _us _at least, mate,” Scorpius finally spoke up, gesturing between himself and Rose. “I mean, you let me believe that night in the pub was practically the first time you’d seen each other since Hogwarts, for Salazar’s sake.” He was frowning, and Rose was surprised to see he looked genuinely wounded. She had a sudden urge to reach over to him, lace her fingers with his, and had to physically sit on her hands to stop herself.

Al had the good grace to look rather abashed at that. “I know,” he muttered, taking another deep slug of his drink. “I should have told both of you. Everything just happened really fast.”

Well, Rose could certainly empathise with that. Instinctually, she glanced over at Scorpius again but found he was still purposefully avoiding her gaze.

“You honestly expect us to believe that there was never a good time in the last _four months _to tell us that you had a girlfriend?” the blond man grumbled. His jaw was set, his scowl dark – he was nothing short of brooding, in fact, and Rose’s skin responded by erupting in a prickly heat.

“Al, tell us about the proposal,” she cut in, more to distract herself than anything. She didn’t imagine it would help her cousin’s delicate psyche if she climbed over him to jump his best mate’s bones, no matter how much it might help hers.

Albus groaned miserably and let his head flop back against the cushions. “I’m such an idiot,” he muttered.

“Yes, you are,” Scorpius sulked at his end of the couch. Rose shot him a dark look, although she secretly had to agree.

“I didn’t really plan to do it,” Al raked a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “It’s her birthday next week and I just wanted to give her something special. She likes antiques, vintage things, and Dad’s always going on about how much old stuff he keeps finding in the family vault so I asked him to send over some things…”

Rose had a sudden recollection of Lily turning up at her door with a plate of flapjacks and a bag full of assorted knick-knacks only that very morning. She’d been so distracted by the presence of a certain person, who happened to make delicious French toast, that it hadn’t even registered as weird.

“He didn’t know why I was asking for them,” Al continued, “but there was a ring amongst all the stuff he found and the idea just popped into my head. So, I went over to her place, I asked…. and she said no.” He blinked, falling quiet. The look on his face nearly broke Rose’s heart.

Scorpius was suddenly on his feet, his own drink in hand as he began pacing across the rug in front of them. “Okay, so we’ve established that you’re apparently an absolute moron -,”

“_Malfoy! _Have a little compassion,” Rose hissed but he waved her off, dismissively.

“- because no one in their right mind proposes to a girl before they’ve even once had dinner with her parents. That being said,” he paused to drain the dregs in his glass, “_she_ is also clearly an idiot -,”

“Oi!” Al bristled from his place on the sofa.

“– Because no one in their right mind says no to marrying my best mate. Not to mention the fact that she’s obviously besotted with you. And I’m not just saying that because the pair of you have evidently lost your minds, running around like a pair of lovestruck teenagers for _four months –_,”

“Merlin, you have to let that go, Malfoy,” Rose rolled her eyes skyward.

He rounded on Al, then, finger pointing almost accusatorially. “I saw the two of you together, that night in the bar, remember? You were your usual shit-show self after three pints but she couldn’t get enough of you. At the time I thought she must be drunk or had maybe had a recent lobotomy, because it seemed so unlikely that anyone could find your joke about the troll, the goblin and the centaur that walk into a bar even remotely funny –,”

“Compassion, Malfoy,” Rose reminded him, pinching the bridge of her nose and fighting against the grin forming at the corner of her mouth. “Do you even know the meaning of the word?”

“My point is,” Scorpius flashed her a half-hearted glare, “that she clearly loves you, Potter, you utter buffoon, and I know this because the two of you looked like you’d been hit with a Confunding charm from the moment you set eyes on each other. It was actually pretty disturbing, to tell the truth.”

Albus was staring up at his friend in bewilderment. “Er, thanks… I think?”

“I think what Malfoy is trying, and failing spectacularly, to say,” Rose shook her head in exasperation, turning in her seat and taking hold of Al’s hand, “is that Emily might not have said ‘no’ because she doesn’t feel the same way, but because it was just too soon. Four months -,” Scorpius let out another huff of indignation somewhere behind her which she pointedly ignored, “– really isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. I bet you just surprised her.”

Albus didn’t look convinced.

“I could talk to her, if you’d like -,” she offered.

“No!” Albus stared at her seriously. “Absolutely not. I just…” he shook his head and grabbed for the bottle to top up his drink. “I just need some time to get my head straight. If I’m lucky, I’ll self-combust out of sheer humiliation before I ever have to see her again.”

Scorpius snorted; Rose rolled her eyes. “You don’t mean that,” she gave him a nudge. “You’re in love, you great prat, remember? Spontaneous combustion is hardly conducive to a meaningful relationship.”

Albus cracked the smallest of lopsided grins at that. “Thanks… both of you. Although you could try being less of a git when your best mate’s dying of a broken heart, Malfoy, just for future reference.”

“Duly noted,” Scorpius grinned and tipped his glass towards him. Rose rolled her eyes.

“I do have a question, though,” Albus frowned thoughtfully at the pair of them. “Why are you two dressed like you’ve just been to the Yule Ball together?”

Rose blushed furiously as she tried to find an explanation for her presence at the Malfoy’s Summer Gala that didn’t make it obvious that she was lusting after her cousin’s best friend. Luckily, Scorpius stepped in, somewhere around her fifth or sixth ‘erm’.

“Well, you were apparently busy asking random women to marry you,” Scorpius smirked as Albus groaned at the reminder, “so I had to drag someone else along to help me woo the masses.”

“Bugger,” Al grumbled, “I love the galas!” He turned on Rose, excitedly, “Did Flimsy make you one of her dirty martinis? They’ll make you forget your own name if you’re not careful. I could do with one of those right now, come to think of it.”

Rose took that as her cue to try and steer her tipsy, love-forlorn cousin to bed. As pleased as she was to see the idiot distracted from his near-marital woes, she didn’t much fancy answering any more questions about her evening with Scorpius at the present time. Especially considering that the extra few glasses of alcohol had done nothing to erase her memory of what it felt like to have his body pressed against hers, his tongue in her mouth, or his hands sliding over her thighs beneath her dress.

Once she’d managed to get Al safely tucked into bed, promising that – first thing in the morning – she’d help him fix this no matter what it took, she escaped back to the living room. Letting her head rest against his closed bedroom door, Rose allowed herself a moment to process her rollercoaster of an evening. More like a whole _week _of madness, she thought to herself. Things that she’d held as constant for as long as she could remember – like Albus being a sworn, blabber-mouth bachelor, and her own deep-rooted dislike of his toe-rag of a best friend – were all starting to come apart at the seams.

“So…” The familiar drawl snagged her attention just as she was about to mentally unravel. Rose glanced across the room to find Scorpius standing in front of the fireplace, hands in his pockets, still looking delectably dishevelled and watching her carefully. “Looks as though there’ll be plenty to talk about at your next Sunday lunch. Are you alright?”

Rose let out a long, slow sigh, “I’m fine,” she muttered, arms folding loosely across her chest as she moved further into the room. She stopped in front of him, just out of arms reach. “I don’t know how we didn’t see it. It’s Albus, we should have known something was going on -,”

“We did,” Scorpius shrugged. “We were just… distracted,” he grinned, ruefully. “Besides, you’re forgetting that he’s a Slytherin. If he really doesn’t want you to know something, you don’t get to know.” She watched his face contort into a frown again, evidently still smarting about being kept in the dark like everybody else. 

Rose chewed on her bottom lip. Despite their earlier activities, she suddenly felt awkward around him. She was unsure how to act; they’d crossed a line that she hadn’t even realised existed between them and now they were in a strange sort of limbo. She supposed it was abundantly clear to him that she fancied the literal pants off him, and was apparently more than willing to let him have his way with her, but the moment for such things had also well and truly passed. So where did that leave them?

They made to speak at the same time: “I should probably go -,” “You could stay, if you -,” Rose blushed furiously and looked away. Scorpius raked a hand through his hair leaving it jaggedly askew.

“I mean, I could stay if you -,”

“No! That is, you’re right. You should probably go.” Rose stared at the carpet, her cheeks still burning. Albus’ low snores began to rumble through the thin wall between them.

“Right,” Scorpius rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. “I’ll stay the night at my parents and be back first thing… For Al,” he clarified, when Rose looked at him questioningly.

She blinked, stupidly, “Yes, of course. You’re a… good friend, Malfoy.” There was a pause whilst an internal battle raged between her desire to drag him into her bedroom and the sudden exhaustion that was threatening to overwhelm her. “Well, goodnight, then.”

Scorpius stared at her for a long moment, just long enough to make Rose feel incredibly self-conscious, before he quickly closed the distance between them in two long strides. Rose felt a jolt run through her at the thought that he might be about to kiss her again, only regaining the ability to breathe when, instead, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly into his chest.

“Goodnight, Weasley,” he murmured into her curls, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead.

They stood like that for what felt like a very long minute before Scorpius disentangled himself from her rigid arms, stepping into the fireplace without so much as a backward glance. Rose stood in the empty living room, watching the green flames flicker and die in the grate, Albus’ snores the only remaining sound beside the pounding of her heart. _Sweet Helga_, she realised with a shaky sigh, she really was an absolute goner.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art installation mentioned in this chapter was real! It was created by 'Superflex' and showcased in 2017. I went to see it and, much like Rose here, didn't really get it. But I think that says more about me than the art itself...

That night, Rose had the most disturbed sleep she'd ever had in her life. Her giant, comfy, king-size bed (the one that had got her into all this mess to begin with), did absolutely nothing to soothe her restless mind as she lay awake into the small hours, alternating between tossing and turning beneath the duvet and staring up at the dark ceiling for what felt like hours.

Her mind couldn't switch off, full as it was with the revelation of Albus and Emily's secret affair and her fretting over her cousin's emotional welfare. And when she finally did drift off, sometime after the clocks struck three, she was treated to a slow-motion replay of her and Scorpius' evening – snippets of him leading her through a crowd, his hand resting comfortably on the small of her back, which blurred into him pressing her against the snooker table, those same hands working their way under her dress. After that, her imagination began to fill in the blanks: he was laying her back on the table, sliding her knickers down over her knees, dipping his head till his stubble scratched the sensitive skin of her inner thighs… She'd woken with a start – anxious, sweaty, and still wretchedly unsatisfied.

As the pale morning sunlight began to creep through her window blinds, Rose realised with a (by now familiar) flip of her stomach, that she had unconsciously kept herself to one side of the bed, preserving what her brain had begun to unhelpfully think of as 'Scorpius' side'. Well, if that didn't scream potential over-attachment issues, then her name wasn't Rose Nymphadora Malfo- oh, _Helga's tits! _She sat up with a scowl, pointedly ignoring the little voice in her head that was busy speculating whether the spare pillow would still smell of him, and whether or not she should give it a sniff to find out.

To her surprise, she could already hear voices coming from the kitchen. It was incredibly unlike Albus to get up before her in a morning, and given recent events she'd rather expected to have to drag him – kicking and screaming – out from under the covers to face the day. Padding barefoot through the flat, still in her pyjamas, Rose halted in surprise at the threshold to the little kitchenette, her toes cold on the linoleum. Two fully grown men were bounding around her kitchen. One, in a tatty old hoodie, appeared to be attempting to juggle eggs. The other, in a light grey cashmere sweater, was preparing a delicious smelling breakfast on the rarely used stove-top.

"Morning, dearest cousin of mine," Albus grinned in greeting, lobbing one of his eggs at her which she caught just in time. "Coffee? Two sugars, just the way you like it." Rose stared dumbly back at him.

"Morning, Weasley," Scorpius nodded at her over his shoulder, face unreadable. Rose met his eye and felt herself flush bright pink for no reason whatsoever.

Internally demanding herself to get a grip, she turned her attention back to Al. "You're very… cheerful," she eyed him cautiously, choosing not to add: for someone who recently had their heart brutally shattered into a million tiny pieces.

"Well, you know what they say, the best way to overcome emotional trauma is to pretend it never happened and bury it beneath layers of bravado," Al continued to grin, snatching a piece of bacon from one of the laid-out plates.

Rose frowned, "I really think whoever told you that may not be particularly trustworthy."

"Oh, lighten up, Rosie," he rolled his eyes theatrically, "And for Godric's sake, go and put some proper clothes on. The last thing Scorp, here, wants to see this early in the morning is you in your skivvies. Isn't that right mate?" He nudged Scorpius in the ribs and Rose just caught sight of the blond's eyebrows making a break for his hairline before he managed to rearrange his face into its usual blasé expression.

"Not at all," Scorpius muttered, casually. "Any amount of nudity is actively encouraged, especially yours Weasley," he shot her one of his smirks – the kind he'd perfected over a decade spent trying to wind her up. Only now it no longer had the effect of riling her into a furious tantrum, but rather made her toes tingle and her lower belly hum with excitement.

She hid all of that, however, with an exaggerated eye roll. "I think your toast is burning," she muttered, dryly, before turning on her heel to head back to the safety of her bedroom.

A dull thud from behind her confirmed somebody had been shoved into the cupboards: "Ow, Malfoy! What was that for?"

"For being a prat," she heard Scorpius mutter. "Now scramble the eggs and shut up for a minute." Rose grinned in spite of herself.

It took her an unduly long time to get dressed that morning. She felt like an anxious teenager, agonising over which outfit to wear in case she bumped into her latest crush. Except her crush was already in her kitchen and apparently making her breakfast. In the end, she gave up with a huff, grabbing whatever was on top of her clean clothes pile – a pair of old shorts and the most recently gifted Weasley jumper – before returning to find the boys already situated in the living room on that god-awful couch.

Rose winced at the sight of it. It was even more fluorescent in the cold light of day.

"Blimey, there you are! We thought you might have passed out in your wardrobe. We saved you a plate, although by now your toast's probably gone cold and I already ate your bacon," Al shrugged, cheerfully.

"Thanks," Rose frowned. There was something really rather eery about her cousin's jollity. Obviously, it was great that he wasn't suicidal, _obviously_. But she'd rather expected him to be at least a little bit more miserable. After all, he'd just been rejected by the woman he supposedly loved. Shouldn't he have been writing depressing love poems or crying softly into the couch again?

Heading in search of her breakfast – and to confirm that Al had, in fact, eaten all the bacon – she heard Scorpius mutter something about more coffee and follow her into the kitchenette. Her excitement about being in a small, confined space with him was narrowly beaten out by concern for her cousin, and she rounded on him hotly, as soon as they were safely out of earshot.

"What have you done to Albus?" she hissed. "Have you… I don't know, slipped him a potion this morning, or something?"

Scorpius paused, one hand on the coffee tin, and arched a slim eyebrow at her. "Don't be a lunatic, Weasley, I'm not in the habit of spiking people's drinks. You've never seen him in a crisis before have you?"

"Of course I have," she muttered, heatedly, shuffling out of the way as he went to fill the kettle. "He's my cousin!"

"Alright," he smirked, though not unkindly, leaning back against the counter in front of her. "What was he like after he didn't make the Falcons' first team two years ago, and almost got shipped off to the arse-end of Wales to play for that local team… the Caerphilly Catapults, or whoever?"

Rose wracked her mind for this particular occurrence. "Well, he was fine, he was -," Exactly like this, her brain supplied: weirdly cheerful. "I just thought he wasn't really that bothered…" she stopped herself, because even she knew how ridiculous that sounded. It had been Albus' dream to play for a first tier professional Quidditch team since he was old enough to have his own broom.

"And when we were kids, and he got sorted into Slytherin? How did he behave then?"

Rose blinked at him, stupidly. She truly didn't know that Albus had ever had a problem with that. In fact, he'd seemed so ecstatic after the sorting that she'd just assumed he'd _wanted _to be down in the dungeons with the snakes. She'd even taken it rather personally for a while, wondering if part of the appeal had been being separated from her.

"Thought as much," Scorpius muttered. "Well, I can tell you he acted exactly like this, practically bouncing off the dungeon walls for almost a week, until he came crashing down one evening. I found him sobbing to the Giant Squid in our common room in the middle of the night."

Rose had a fleeting image of the two of them as eleven-year-olds, sat cross-legged on their common room floor, staring wistfully out into the Black Lake through the greenish-hued windows. It broke and warmed her heart all at once. No wonder they turned out to be such annoyingly good friends.

"So, what are you saying?" she cleared her throat, turning away from him to pull the milk from the fridge and avoid his gaze.

"I'm saying, that we're waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'll be like this for a while – a few days, maybe, a week tops – and then it'll hit him all at once. We just have to be there when it does."

Rose nodded thoughtfully. "Fine. Then that's what we'll do. We'll take shifts, we'll keep him distracted, we don't let him out of our sight and then, when he has his moment of self-implosion, someone will be there for him." She glanced up to find Scorpius still watching her, a small smile on his face. "What?" she muttered, suddenly concerned she might have accidentally smeared toothpaste on her nose.

He shrugged, "Just seems like Albus Potter has more than one good friend looking out for him. That's all." Rose rolled her eyes, cheeks colouring at the reminder of their awkward goodbyes the previous evening, but failed to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

They were interrupted then by the loud whistle of the boiling kettle, and Rose turned to grab a clean mug from the high shelf. As usual, even on her tip-toes, the blasted thing was just out of reach. She felt Scorpius move behind her, leaning over her with his rather notable height advantage to pull one down for her – just as he had done the other morning. This time, however, there was something far more deliberate about the way he brushed against her, bringing his chest flush against her back. And whilst one arm reached out to pluck down her favourite mug with ease, the other coiled around her waist, his palm splayed against her stomach, his fingertips just grazing the hem of her jumper, and making Rose's entire body feel suddenly boneless.

He stilled against her, dropping his head to bring his lips to her ear and murmured: "And don't worry, Rosie. I haven't forgotten that you owe me a rather special favour. Rest assured, I don't intend to wait too long before claiming the spoils."

Gripping the sideboard in front of her just hard enough to turn her knuckles white, it took all of Rose's inner strength not to turn her head just an inch or two to the left, to swallow what was undoubtedly another self-satisfied smirk in a needy kiss. It was overwhelming – _he _was overwhelming. The weight of him against her, the warmth and the friction; it was all too much and yet so very far from enough. Her desire for him came back, full force, and when he stepped away – far, _far_ too quickly for her liking – she was half surprised that she didn't just collapse to the ground, a trembling wreck.

"Oi! Where's my bloody coffee?" came Al's jovial yell from the next room, and Rose's eyes snapped open. She caught the ghost of a grin that flittered across Scorpius' face as he backed away from her, disappearing into the living room where she could hear him jokingly tell her cousin to "piss off". She didn't understand how he could hide it so well. If he wanted her as much as she wanted him, he shouldn't be able to string a sentence together right now.

By the time she'd pulled herself together enough to be able to walk in a straight line, it seemed that Al had already decided on an itinerary for his day. He wanted to get drunk and he wanted to go flying (not necessarily in that order), and so Rose temporarily acquiesced all Albus-sitting responsibility to Scorpius, who gladly grabbed his coat. In fact, the next few days continued in a fairly similar manner: wherever Albus decided he wanted to go, at least one of them would dutifully follow. Monday involved an expensive trip to Quality Quidditch Supplies, with the rest of the afternoon spent in the pub. On Tuesday, it was lunch at Al's favourite spot, before the boys tried their hand at golf with Rose's Grandad Granger. That had ended rather poorly when Albus – who had never taken an interest in muggle driving lessons – had insisted on piloting their golf buggy and they'd all ended up waist deep in a pond. Still, it had amused and distracted Al to no end, which she supposed was the whole point, even if she did now owe her grandad a new set of golf shoes and a very large apology.

Wednesday had been Rose's day off and she'd dragged her wayward cousin to the Tate Modern in an attempt to fill his head with "something other than booze and sport" for a few hours. They'd spent the morning lying on the carpeted floor of the large Turbine Hall beneath a giant swinging mirror-ball, which was probably meant to represent capitalism or fatalism or the relentless passage of time, but actually just made Rose feel a bit queasy and Al reminisce about the time he smacked James in the head with a conker.

Scorpius, being essentially self-employed, could devote the most time to keeping an eye on his friend and took his role very seriously. Rose could hardly complain about this since it meant that she knew her cousin was in good hands whenever she had to go to work, but having him around so much – even more than usual – was slowly starting to fry her nerves. Normally, when she got home after a wearing shift, she could collapse in a heap in their living room, moving only to the kitchen for food if the need arose like some sort of foraging troll. Now, when she got home to find Scorpius in her flat every night, she felt on edge and unable to relax. She wanted to be around him but it was also exhausting to do so. She had all these pent-up feelings and urges, and no idea at all how to go about acting on them.

In fact, on Thursday evening, Albus had insisted on all three of them going to the local muggle cinema together where they'd watched a film that Rose couldn't even remember the name of, given that she'd had to spend two hours sat in the dark sandwiched between both men. It had been nothing short of torturous in her opinion; Scorpius' thigh warm against hers to her left and Al chewing loudly on popcorn to her right.

Things came to something of a head on Friday. Rose had the early shift that day and so was already home by the time Scorpius turned up to take Al out to their favourite muggle bar on Clapham High Street. Rose popped her head around her bedroom door at the sound of the Floo, assuming it was Albus returning from the corner shop where he'd gone to get more beers, and started at the sight of Scorpius, dressed to impress and _alone_, in the living room.

"Hello," she blurted out, not really knowing what else to say but having heard that's how a normal conversation might start.

Scorpius turned at the sound of her voice, his face breaking into an easy grin at the sight of her. "Hello, Weasley…" he glanced about the flat. "Al not here?"

She edged out of her room, "Just popped out. Back any minute, I suspect."

"Right," Scorpius nodded thoughtfully for a moment, then stuck his hands in his pockets as he began to head towards her, attempting to look as casual as possible.

"I see dressing like an actual adult didn't really take, then? You're literally one shirt button away from disaster, Malfoy," Rose chewed on her lower lip, her eyes drawn to the open collar of his dark green shirt. She swallowed thickly.

He chuckled and eyed her mischievously. "That's funny, I seem to recall you were far more interested on getting my shirt off altogether, the last time we were alone."

Rose blushed furiously and glanced away, directing her poisonous eye roll at the far wall, which was far less likely to answer back in her experience.

"Don't be shy, Rosie," he drawled, amused by her reaction. She watched him meandering lazily around the edge of the couch, her pulse quickening with each step he took towards her. "I've been in enough compromising positions with you by now to know that you are anything but."

Rose's glare lacked all of the necessary malice, owing to the sudden fluttering in her knickers at the mention of their previous encounters. It took every ounce of restraint not to rise to him, and instead, she cleared her throat: "So, what's on the itinerary tonight? Another evening of drunk and disorderly behaviour, no doubt?"

Scorpius' grin widened and he tilted his head at her. "You say drunk and disorderly, I say spirited and spontaneous. Besides, there's nothing wrong with blowing off a little steam with a drink or two, is there?"

"A drink or two, no. Turning my cousin into a functioning alcoholic on the other hand…" she arched a slim eyebrow and felt the smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. "Surely you used more wholesome tactics to cheer him up after his Sorting?"

"Ah, well, there was such a thing as Honeydukes chocolate to soothe the soul when we were eleven. Now there's copious amounts of alcohol and flirting with barmaids." Scorpius smirked; Rose couldn't help but scowl. Whilst she didn't particularly like to think of her cousin chatting up random women, she liked it a whole lot less to imagine Scorpius doing it as well. "Don't pout, Weasley," he practically sniggered, finally close enough to reach out and tug on her jumper, urging her to cross the last few feet of distance between them. "It makes you look jealous."

"I can't imagine what I'm supposed to be jealous of…" she murmured, her chest bumping against his as his hand slipped around her waist. It was entirely futile to resist and, besides, she didn't really want to.

The sigh that escaped her when he brought his mouth to hers was practically one of relief. She felt her whole body relax, as if it had been held taught on a wire all week. One of Scorpius' hands came up to rest on the wall beside her head, the other working its way beneath the hem of her jumper until she flinched at the feel of his cold fingers against her skin. He chuckled against her lips, but she cut him off quickly by sliding her tongue against his. He responded with fervour, pushing himself more firmly against her, and Rose was once again irrationally annoyed that he was such a good kisser – because it meant he must have done this before, many times most likely, with someone that wasn't her.

He tasted just as she remembered, felt _even better_ than she remembered, and the head rush that came with him was nothing short of delirium. The heat scorching through her was like nothing she'd experienced before, either. Maybe it was the waiting and the frustration, maybe it was just him, but her body responded in a way she wasn't prepared for. She felt all at sea and fiercely present all at once.

Before things could get too heated, and conscious of her absent cousin who was due to return any moment, Rose pulled away after another delicious second. She glanced up at him and marvelled – cheeks flushed, eyes dark, and hair mussed; a freshly kissed Scorpius Malfoy was rapidly becoming one of her favourite things to see.

"You know," he murmured, toying with an errant curl by her shoulder before shooting her a lazy grin. "I could ask Al for a rain check? Tell him I'm tired or sick, and then we could -,"

Rose stopped him with a shake of her head. She was worried if he actually managed to finish the thought, she'd be powerless to refuse. "He needs you," she grumbled, ruefully, almost disbelieving her own ears. "You should go."

But what happened next took her completely by surprise. Scorpius huffed in frustration, stepping away from her with a grimace: “And what about what I need?”

“Sorry?” she blinked.

He stared at her blank expression, his own quickly darkening. “You’re really going to pretend that we’re not on the same page here? Well that’s… That’s brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.”

Rose bristled, “What’s that meant to mean?” she frowned, her back stiffening against the wall.

“Just… Nothing,” he scowled and raked a hand through his hair, turning away from her to mutter, “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

But his sudden change of tone had Rose’s temper flaring. “Oh, of course,” she rolled her eyes. “I forgot this all had to be about you, Malfoy.” She clucked her tongue against her teeth in annoyance. “There I was, thinking what a great and noble friend you were being, but you’d bail out in a second for the chance of a quick shag -,”

“A quick shag! Are you joking, Weasley?” he turned on her, incredulously. “This isn’t anything like that and you know it. And _don’t _try and tell me otherwise, you’re not that good a liar.”

Rose stared at him, open-mouthed. She didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t even really know what it meant.

Scorpius was glaring at her, his expression foul, his cheeks still flushed but now for an entirely different reason. Her brain, befuddled as it was after that mind-bending kiss, was struggling to catch up with this reversal of fortunes. What in the name of Merlin’s arse was he talking about? There was a small part of her that felt like she might understand, or at least be beginning to, but a part much larger still that didn’t feel like trying to puzzle that out right now.

And luckily for her, she didn't have to. The jangle of keys in the lock announced Albus' return, and he came stumbling into the living room under the weight of several crates of lager. If he was at all surprised by the sight of his cousin and best friend glaring daggers at each other in one corner of the room, then he didn't show it.

"Oh, good, you're here, Malfoy! Give me a hand, would you?"

Rose's gaze flicked from Scorpius to Al, and then back to Scorpius. The blond was still staring at her with a murderous scowl and looked for a moment as if he might be about to say something, but then clearly thought better of it and turned away with an angry shrug.

And, suddenly, it was business as usual again. Rose could do nothing but watch them disappear into the kitchen with Al's spoils before slinking away into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her in annoyance. Well, wasn't this just bloody fantastic, she cursed into an unsuspecting pillow. Now she was even more frustrated _and _confused. The only rational conclusion being that Malfoy was evidently still a git. Albeit a handsome, funny, excellent kisser sort of git. She supposed it was good to know she hadn't been completely deluding herself for all those years.

She stayed hidden in her room, listening out for the rush of the Floo or the bang of the door to signify the boys had left for their night out. About twenty minutes later, when she was sure she was alone, she grabbed a towel from the radiator and traipsed to the bathroom for a much-needed cold shower. Two things were for certain: she had another sleepless night ahead of her, and Scorpius Malfoy was _still _very much dead meat.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter, folks! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. It really is brilliant to hear from you and fills my heart with glee. Hope everyone is still keeping safe in this mad world and not fallen victim to isolation-mania just yet. Enjoy!

Somewhat predictably, Albus was rather hungover the next day. This was no surprise to Rose, who was well aware of her cousin and his git of a best mate’s drinking habits, and had also found him bent over the toilet bowl at around half four in the morning, making a tremendous amount of retching noises and a terrible mess.

“Couldn’t you have got this out of your system whilst you were still at the bar…” she’d muttered with a grimace, wondering what an Earth they must have been drinking to turn his insides such a colour, as she brought him a glass of water.

Albus shook his head with a groan. “Nah, I’ve had some experience with that. Puking in a public bathroom always exemplifies the sound.”

Although this left her with far more questions than answers, she’d made the executive decision not to ask for any further details and, instead, helped him crawl into bed, leaving him with a Pepper-Up Potion on his bedside table to ease the inevitable headache come morning.

Scorpius was also notably absent the next day. Which made it the first day in over a week that he hadn’t graced their little flat with his ‘godlier than thou’ presence. Rose pondered over that as she made Albus a third cup of strong coffee. She liked to suppose that he was just as painfully hungover as her cousin, and didn’t have the physical capacity to move from his own sofa and _not, _as a small part of her brain unhelpfully suggested, cosied up with some barmaid he’d charmed into letting him go home with her. Indeed, so preoccupied was she with such a disagreeable notion, that she’d accidentally knocked her favourite mug – the one bearing the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes logo with the chip in the rim – flying off the counter with her elbow. It cracked on the linoleum, narrowly avoiding splashing scalding hot coffee over her bare toes.

Scorpius shite-ing Malfoy, she’d seethed, sweeping the shards of china into the bin with an aggressive flick of her wand. Ruining her week, her reputation, possibly her _entire life_, and now her favourite drinking vessel. The git was relentless. 

She still hadn’t quite gotten her head around their encounter the previous evening. All week she’d felt nervous, tip-toeing around him, waiting patiently and wanting desperately for a chance to be alone with him again. And then, when it had finally happened, he’d yelled at her. And for what?! Looking out for her cousin? Something, she might add, that had been his idea in the first place and that they’d both agreed to. She wouldn’t put it past him to be launching some sort of psychological warfare against her; riling her up with spine-tingling kisses and his stupidly tussled hair, just to throw cold water on the whole thing and leave her frustrated and confused.

As she said: Git. Relentless.

The one positive of Al being in such a terrible state was that it was very easy to keep track of him, being that he barely moved from their couch all day. He alternated between napping and begging Rose for various snacks and fluids, which she begrudgingly supplied. Whilst he dozed, Rose was able to spend her day off in a variety of thrilling ways: like attempting to put a name to the exact colour of their new furniture statement piece. When she’d first laid eyes on their hideous sofa she’d thought it was a mustard yellow, but the longer she looked at it, the more it took on something of a chartreuse hue, with hints of lemon, and something reminiscent of the hi-vis reflective jackets she saw the muggles wearing on the construction site near her work. Whatever it was, it gave her a headache, and she couldn’t wait to set fire to it.

Leaving that mystery for another day, she decided now was as good a time as any to go through the mountain of post that had built up over the week. They were normally pretty good at keeping on top of such things but they’d been a little distracted, what with Al having a life-altering existential crisis, and Rose day-dreaming about making out with Malfoy whilst also having to keep an eye on said cousin having the life-altering existential crisis. She flicked through the first few bits of mail – a water bill, a flyer for a new Chinese takeaway opening down the road, and an advert asking if she’d like to sponsor a mountain troll for 3 Knuts a month – all of which went sailing into the rubbish bin. Beneath those was a postcard from their cousin, Lucy, who was on a gap year post graduation from Hogwarts. It appeared she’d made it to some tribal village in Cambodia and gotten her nose pierced (Rose snorted aloud, trying to imagine how her Uncle Percy might feel about that). Next, there was an invitation to Victoire’s baby shower in two weeks’ time, which had far more glitter on it than Rose felt was entirely necessary, and finally, a rolled-up copy of the most recent issue of _Witch Weekly_.

Rose frowned at the magazine. Neither she nor Al had a subscription or even routinely bought a copy, so that seemed a little odd. She plucked it out of the pile and unrolled it, noticing that someone had scribbled across the top in flowy purple quill-ink –

_Just friends, my arse! Keep the dress btw, looks like it got you more action that it ever did me! ~ L_

Rose had a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Brushing the other mail to one side, she hastily flipped open the glossy magazine, scouring the contents page for what she dreaded but fully expected to see. It was easy enough to find: a double page spread on the most recent Summer Gala at Malfoy Manor which, according to the small blurb written at the top of the page, the magazine had exclusive rights to attend and photograph every year. Well, that was certainly something that Scorpius had failed to mention when convincing her to go with him. 

Scanning the page with wide blue eyes, Rose’s heart sank further and further. She was pictured, not just once, but at least _six_ separate times. Each time with Scorpius. Each time looking adoringly into each other’s eyes. And there was touching, _so _much bloody touching. The largest of all the pictures, centre fold, was of the two of them on the lawn: he had his arm around her, she was tucked into his side, and Rose watched in despair as the image of Scorpius ducked his head towards her at the same time as she turned to face him, so that it looked – to every _Witch Weekly _reader around the country – as if they were kissing.

The caption below it read: _‘The young heir to the Malfoy estate, feeling amorous with his girlfriend, Rose Weasley.’_

“Slander!” Rose yelled to no-one in particular, causing Al to wake with a start before groaning and rolling over with a snore.

She jumped up from where she’d been sat, cross-legged on the floor, and began to pace the room. How dare they insinuate they’d been kissing at the Gala, she fumed. I mean, alright, technically there had been kissing, and some more besides, but not _then_, not in front of people, not like that! And ‘_girlfriend_’?! That was even worse than ‘_respective partner’, _for Helga’s sake! Just where were these people getting their sources? Weren’t they supposed to fact check their stories before they ran with them? It was simply lazy, libellous journalism and she wasn’t going to stand for it!

And, Merlin’s bollocks, she recoiled internally, what exactly was the circulation of _Witch Weekly _these days? A few thousand maybe? A handful of them were even amongst her extended family: Lily and Roxanne certainly never missed an edition, her Aunt Fleur always seemed to have a copy in the guest bathroom, and her Aunt Audrey was a sucker for the crossword puzzle. And if her Aunt Audrey had seen this, then her mum definitely knew about it – they had a standing weekly Floo call to cover all work and family-related gossip over a gin and slim-lined tonic.

Oh, Helga’s tits! – she staggered into the kitchen – her entire family could gaze upon her _‘feeling amorous’ _with a man she’d proclaimed to loathe for the last decade, not to mention denied having anything to do with only a mere two weeks ago.

Angrily rummaging through a kitchen drawer for some parchment (fully intending to write a sternly worded letter to the editor of _Witch - Liar-Liar-Pants-On-Fire -_ _Weekly_)_, _Rose made to tear the offending pages free of the magazine. Eyes quickly diverting from images of Scorpius supposedly kissing her, she paused briefly to scan the various other photos of the two of them. There were a few more shots of them together in the crowd, chatting to other guests, and one of Scorpius leading her away from the party, hand in hand. She swallowed thickly, remembering where they’d been heading and what they were about to get up to, feeling a little shiver of something run through her.

There was also a picture of them talking with Scorpius’ parents – she looked a little startled, but Scorpius had his hands on her shoulders encouragingly and was grinning like a schoolboy. And a final snapshot, again just of the pair of them, showed him bounding up the stairs to greet her, a wide smile lighting up his face and an excited spring in his step. She watched herself reciprocate his stupid grin as he reached her, watched her eyes crinkle with happiness for a moment before she remembered herself. The shift in her demeanour was subtle but meaningful.

She lay the magazine down on the counter with shaky hands, feeling suddenly uneasy and unsure of the root of her distress. Was it really the fact that she’d once again been publicly outed for consorting with Scorpius? Or… was it actually the fact that they had greatly over-exaggerated by calling her his girlfriend, and she was miserable because it wasn’t true?

Oh… _bollocks_…

Rose began to back away from the pages lying open on the worktop, a wave of understanding crashing down inside of her, so fierce that she was afraid she’d be swept away by it entirely. She had feelings. And not just lust and urges and tingly feelings because he was an obnoxiously handsome son-on-of-a-bitch. Actual feelings, _feeling _feelings. That rush she felt bickering and arguing with him. The elation when she got to be the one that made him laugh. The warmth deep in her chest when he would snatch her hand up in his, and the ache that replaced it when his face clouded with hurt. 

A hand flew to her mouth. Oh, _sweet Helga_ – she felt all of the air escape her lungs at once – she was in love with Scorpius Malfoy. That cold day in Hell had finally arrived.

Lost in the midst of a life-altering existential crisis of her own, Rose completely missed the low groan that emanated from the couch next door. She heard it the second time and ignored it still, assuming Albus had woken up with a banging headache and a dry mouth. But then it came again – a drawn out, sorrowful-sounding sob. Rose shook herself back into being, peeking her head around the kitchen archway to find her cousin awake, sitting up on the sofa, his head in his hands and the look of a broken man on his face.

“Al…?” she asked, tentatively, her heart still beating chaotically beneath her sternum. “What’s happening? Is everything…?” her voice trailed off at the desperate look he gave her. His face was a shade of grey she didn’t think she’d ever seen on a living human before.

“Rosie, I… I really love her… and I’ve ruined everything,” came his shaky reply.

Rose went rigid; Albus let out another heart-wrenching wail and collapsed back against the sofa. Scrambling to force her own explosion of thoughts and feelings into one frantic corner of her mind, she started towards her cousin. Maybe it was the hangover, maybe it was just that enough time had elapsed for him to properly process things, but the proverbial ‘other shoe’ had most certainly dropped. Albus was in an emotional free fall.

And where the bloody Hell was Scorpius? Rose cursed mentally. He was the one that supposedly knew all about her cousin and his unhealthy coping mechanisms. He was the one that claimed to have got him through such crises time and time again. And now he was nowhere to be seen, possibly in hiding with some pouty-lipped barmaid, the useless git. Oh, yes: she might love him and all that shite, but she was under no illusion that he wasn’t also the world’s most intolerable wanker.

“Al,” she hovered anxiously over him, “tell me what to do. What do you need?” He simply stared up at her with helpless, empty eyes. “It’s okay… everything’s okay…” she hopped from one foot to another, trying to convince herself just as much as him. “I’ll, um, I’ll get the booze!”

She tripped over herself as she slipped and slid into the kitchen, snatching the half empty bottle of Ogden’s from the cupboard under the sink and a couple of mugs off the draining rack before sprinting back to his side. The hangover, it seemed, had been entirely forgotten, as when she finally managed to get the damn cork out of the bottle and sloshed a healthy measure into his glass, he slugged it down needily and requested another, straight up. Rose watched him nervously, her head still spinning from her own recent revelations, before muttering an expletive under her breath and pouring herself a glass in solidarity.

They sat like that for a while: Al with his head in his hands and Rose knelt at his feet, feeling every bit as unprepared as James before every single one of his O.W.L. exams. ‘Love’ and all its trials and tribulations, all its twists and turns and utter pits of despair, was something she had (very literally) only been introduced to in the last five minutes.

“Did you see her?” Al looked up at last, black hair falling into desolate green eyes. “Emily… at work, I mean. Did she say, or - …did she seem…?”

Rose chewed on her lower lip but shook her head. True to her word she hadn’t approached her friend at all that week. Although, to be fair, that had significantly more to do with the fact that Emily hadn’t turned up for any of her shifts, rather than Rose’s loyalty to Albus. She’d even gotten a little paranoid as the days ticked by and eventually asked Maria Thomas, another of their friends in the Training Programme, to check in on Emily at home. Apparently, she hadn’t been kidnapped or murdered as Rose had begun to fear, but she did “look like absolute hippogriff shite”, as Maria had so delicately put it. But Rose didn’t think that was something that Albus needed to hear right now.

“Love sucks,” Al muttered gloomily, sinking back into the sofa cushions.

Rose thought of men with blond hair and grey eyes, of kisses that knocked you for six and arguments that made your blood boil and your heart hurt. “Yes,” she muttered, grimly. “Yes, it does.”

As the pale evening light crept across the living room floor, the two cousins sat in quiet solidarity. Their bottle was eventually emptied, another was summoned from under Al’s bed where he apparently kept a secret stash (Rose would have to remember that for the next time she wanted to get blind drunk in her own flat), and the remaining flapjacks from Grandma Molly – which by now had the consistency of a freshly set slab of concrete – were consumed in place of any real sustenance. Although Rose couldn’t seem to find the right words to say or even a single helpful suggestion of how Al might make himself feel better, she got the distinct impression that just being there was all that was required of her. Instead, they talked about Quidditch and old Hogwarts professors, of their godmother Luna’s most recent expedition and of everyone’s total surprise that Hugo turned out to be the smart one. They talked about everything and anything under the sun _except_ for the reason they were both now sat there, on that hideous sofa in the dark.

It was Albus who eventually brought it up again, a few hours later: “And I’m sorry,” he sighed, glass tilted so that his drink splashed against the sides, “for not telling you about everything sooner. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Rose dismissed him with a shrug, gazing wistfully up at the ceiling, “It’s okay, Al. I do understand, sort of.”

“No,” he groaned, “it wasn’t okay. And Scorp’s still mad with me for it, I can tell.”

“I’m sure he’s not -,”

“No, Rosie, he is, I know he is. And you know what?” he hiccupped and slid a little more sideways himself. “He has every right to be! I mean, it must have been much harder for him, when he came and told me how he felt about you. I mean, you’re my cousin! I might’ve punched his lights out, or hexed his bollocks off, or something -,”

Rose felt her heartbeat stutter into non-existence. She froze where she sat, head snapping round to stare at her cousin from the other end of the couch. “Al… What -, what are you talking about?”

But Albus appeared not to have heard her. “And not just that, but he had the balls to actually come and tell you himself… well, he tried, at least. I told him there was no point trying to wake you up, you’d be out for the count, snoring like a hippogriff -,”

“A drowning hippogriff,” she corrected him, before she shook her head sharply to refocus. “Wait, Albus, stop!”

Al blinked at her, uncoordinatedly, and tried to sit up straight. A sudden frown graced his features. “Why do I get the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of that?”

But Rose was already out of her seat. “You just said -,” she pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“No,” Al shook his head quickly. “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh yes, you did -,”

“I am afraid you must be mistaken,” Al had suddenly become very attentive towards the pile of discarded post that Rose had chucked in the bin earlier. “In fact, I know absolutely nothing of importance. I am an empty vessel of knowledge.”

Rose had to resist the urge to stamp her foot in irritation. “Albus Potter! You’re going to finish that sentence and explain yourself this instant. What was he coming to tell me?! And stop pretending to read that letter! I know you’re not remotely interested in sponsoring a mountain troll!”

“Goes to show what you know; I happen to think they’re an enchanting species,” he muttered, still not meeting her eye, and causing Rose to shriek in frustration. “Besides, I don’t see why you’re so bothered, you’ve never cared about anything to do with Scorp before. In fact, you’ve always… well, whatever the opposite of cared is, always shouting about what a git he is.”

Rose felt the heat that flooded her cheeks. Albus was now staring up at her curiously, a look of dawning realisation colouring his previously grey features, all thoughts of mountain trolls temporarily forgotten. She pulled awkwardly on the sleeve of her jumper and muttered: “Well, he _is_ a git.” 

“Agreed,” Al nodded thoughtfully and shuffled forward till he was on the edge of his seat, looking up at her suspiciously. “But… he’s also funny, and wicked smart. He can even be pretty generous when he wants to be. Plus, I’ve heard from female acquaintances that he’s supposedly quite good looking, although I don’t see what all the fuss is about myself.”

Rose felt her pulse swirling in her ears. She knew what Al was getting at and, for once, she even knew her own feelings, not that it made it any easier to own up to them. “Doesn’t mean he’s not a complete arse, though, does it?” she muttered, not daring to meet her cousin’s gaze.

Al gave her the knowing side-eye. “Oh, absolutely not. In fact, I suppose you might even say he was the biggest arse of them all. A very special arse. Possibly the most important arse in your whole entire life?”

Rose’s tongue felt suddenly too big for the inside of her head. She looked at Albus like a deer in headlights; he looked back at her like a Seer that already knew all the answers. “A-Agreed,” she finally stuttered.

Al was immediately losing a valiant battle against his own grin. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with other matters, Rose would have been thrilled to seeing him looking so cheerful. “In that case,” he said, “there _is _something you should know.” Rose stared at him, blue eyes hopeful and terrified and sceptical all at once. Al’s grin widened. “His Floo isn’t broken. Never has been.”

Rose frowned, momentarily confused. “What?”

“Scorpius moved into his new flat over a month ago and got the Floo connection set up the very first day,” he shrugged, a little too casually. “I don’t know if that’s important or not, just seemed like something you might find interesting. The address is stuck on the fridge.”

Rose’s frown deepened as she scowled at her cryptic cousin. Had Al totally lost the plot or was she missing something here? Why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left testicle would she care about Malfoy’s Floo connection when she was right in the middle of (sort of) admitting to being in love with him?

And then it hit her. “Oh, that git!” she shrieked. “I _knew _this was all his fault, somehow!” She glared into the middle-distance, slack-jawed. The events of the last two weeks came into sharp, startling focus. Waking up to find him next to her in bed that fateful morning, his refusal to deny anything, and that look she’d seen exchanged between him and her cousin. All his stupid little comments, which she’d thought were intended to wind her up – but maybe he’d just been spelling it out for her, waiting for her thick head to catch up?

And then along came all this rumour nonsense and, well, she’d played right into his hands there, hadn’t she? Rose dragged her fingers through uncooperative curls; feeling as though she were in grasping distance of all the pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t known needed solving. No wonder he hadn’t seemed to care a jot about their picture in the paper, or correcting his parents. The entire thing had just seemed to _amuse _him, more than anything, and had only led to them spending more and more time alone together. He might not have orchestrated the entire thing but he’d certainly let it play out for his own personal gain.

_“I’m too drunk to apparate…” “Still haven’t got my Floo set up yet…” “Hardly my fault your cousin got the wrong end of the stick, is it?” _

Lies, lies, lies!

Rose whirled on the spot, snatching up her wand from the coffee table as she headed for the kitchen. Her temper was flaring and there was a figurative whirlwind of confusing emotions that she couldn’t quite name (although she was fairly certain one of them was unbridled fury and another might have been unadulterated joy), rushing through her. And there it was – pinned in place on the fridge door, one Floo address scrawled in Albus’ chicken-scratch handwriting. How long had that even been there? Had she stared at it, unseeing, this entire time? Sweet Salazar, if her boss ever got wind of her sheer levels of obliviousness, she’d be out of the Auror Programme faster than a speeding _‘Expelliarmus!’_

“Oi! Don’t mind me,” Albus called after her, as she stomped passed him again, this time towards the fireplace. “Just your soul-destroyed, broken-hearted cousin that you’re apparently about to abandon!”

Rose stumbled over the grate. _Bollocks_, she realised, he was right. That did seem like something of a failure in her cousinly duties. But she also had the perfect solution. “Don’t worry,” she smirked, conjuring up her shimmering fox Patronus at the memory of Scorpius bounding up the stairs at Malfoy Manor to greet her. “I’m calling in the cavalry. Consider it your punishment for not telling me about any of this sooner.” 

The look of sheer terror on Albus’ face was the last thing she saw before she stepped into the green flames of the Floo. Served him right, the prat, she thought. And besides, she had much, _much _bigger idiots to deal with first. Namely one Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy – git of the century and quite possibly the love of her life. 

Oh, Merlin, how was she ever going to show her face at Sunday lunch again?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings(/spoilers): The more observant amongst you may have noticed a change in the rating of this story. We head into mature territory here (there is smut), and I know that's not everyone's cup of tea.
> 
> For everyone who has read, bookmarked, left kudos and commented: you've filled my socially distanced heart with glee.

When Rose stumbled out of the fireplace into Scorpius' living room, the first thing she noticed was that the whole place felt like _him_. That was a fairly stupid thing to think, of course, because it was his home, after all – and yet, for some reason it momentarily stopped her in her tracks.

Firstly, it smelt like him: like sage and sandalwood. Rose had assumed it was whatever cologne he doused himself with that had got stuck up her nostrils like an olfactory memory these last few weeks but perhaps that was just his scent, seeping out of him like pheromones, infecting the air and her good sense. Then, as she turned to survey the room, she realised it looked like him too. Everything was in shades of dark green, blue and grey, the furniture looked expensive and plush with hints of mahogany. It almost looked unlived in – too nice to be touched – apart from the little hints here and there that she only spotted on a second inspection. Like the man himself, there were secret facets to be uncovered: the wall of photographs that brought some life and movement to the room (Rose spotted a familiar crop of unruly black hair made an appearance in a number of them), and the stack of records – a surprising mixture of wizard and muggle artists alike – beside a modern looking gramophone. A framed, vintage Quidditch poster occupied the wall above the sofa, and an overstuffed bookshelf that could make a Ravenclaw jealous stood proudly in the corner. A large globe occupied one on the shelves, seemingly made of cork and with what looked like porcupine quills stuck into various countries. Were they all places he'd already visited, she wondered, or places he wanted to go?

_Maybe they could go together_, she thought, before immediately discarding the notion with a shake of her head. Best not to get ahead of oneself, and besides, she was still feeling fairly outraged at all the new information she'd gathered. Just because she might reciprocate whatever feelings he had towards her (and even on that point she couldn't be certain – Albus hadn't been particularly precise with his slip of the tongue), didn't mean that she appreciated being manipulated into getting there. Being kept in the dark, lied to and frankly put through the emotional wringer, was not something she was here to thank him for.

She was about to head out into the hallway in search of the flat's occupant, when she spotted the open copy of _Witch Weekly _lying beside the sofa. She didn't need to inspect it closely to recognise the double page spread of photographs taken at the Summer Gala. Her heart gave a miss-skip at the thought that Scorpius might have come to the same conclusion as she had from looking at the pictures of the two of them:

That she was quite clearly besotted with him. Even if she hadn't realised it at the time.

With a double take, she noticed a stack of similar magazines poking out of a basket in the corner. Oh, Merlin - she _knew _the prat had a subscription to the vacuous rag! She scoffed aloud, feeling the gleeful smirk that crept up the corner of her mouth at having such wonderful weaponry to use against him for evermore.

"Rose?"

She whirled round, smirk faltering, to find Scorpius stood in the open doorway. He had a simple white t-shirt on and dark grey sweatpants, and there was a toothbrush literally hanging out of his startled mouth. Slate coloured eyes stared at her in a mixture of alarm and suspicion. In hindsight, she supposed it probably was a little odd to find her stood there, uninvited, in his home which she had never before deigned to visit. But she was not to be deterred.

Fixing him with a grim smile, she marched back over to the fireplace: "Well, isn't that interesting," she slapped her palm against the mantlepiece. "For a Floo that supposedly doesn't work, I got here rather unscathed, wouldn't you say?"

Scorpius narrowed his eyes, glancing quickly between her and the dormant fire. He cautiously lowered his toothbrush, "Er, yes. Well, I actually had that fixed just this morning, so -,"

"Really?" Rose's exaggerated surprise sent her voice up a few octaves. "In that case you absolutely _must _give me the name of your Floo man! It's so hard to find a reliable one, never mind a bloke that'll come out on a Saturday, no less!"

Scorpius' expression darkened. She saw the subtle shift in his stance, the stiffening in his shoulders. He was on the defensive. "What are you doing here, Rose?" he muttered crossly, possibly because he didn't like the direction the conversation was going or maybe he'd just remembered that the last time they'd been alone together, he'd been rather angry with her.

Rose folded her arms across her chest and held his stare. "Albus is drinking again."

He shrugged, uncaring. "So? Must be a day ending in a 'Y'. Anything else?"

She valiantly resisted the overpowering urge to sneer at him. "Albus is drinking, because he is distraught. That 'other shoe' you seemed so concerned about, well, it's dropped. Dropped, disappeared, been blasted off the face of the Earth, however you want to put it."

A look of understanding dawned across his hard features and he started towards her and the fireplace. "What in Salazar's name are you doing here, then? Why have you left him alone?"

Rose stepped sideways to block his path. "He's not on his own. I summoned Lily, she's probably at the flat by now -,"

"_Baby Potter_?! You summoned -?! Merlin, Weasley, have you gone mad? The whole point was to preventthe man _Avada_-ing himself, not to encourage it!"

"Oh, don't be so ridiculous," she snapped, putting herself in his way again as he attempted to dart around her. "Besides, she's his sister, if anyone can handle a melodramatic Albus then she can."

Scorpius certainly didn't seem appeased, but stopped trying to barrel past her and threw up his hands in frustration. "Then what is it, Weasley? Why are you here? You made it exceptionally clear yesterday that your sole priority is the emotional welfare of your idiot cousin, and yet you decide to come and snoop around my flat in his hour of need."

"I wasn't snooping!" she cried, indignantly. "I came here to find you, you great prat." Although she was already struggling to recall why she ever thought that was a good idea. And then another horrible thought occurred to her: "Is there someone else here?" She glanced nervously at the doorway over his shoulder, remembering her earlier visions of him tangled up in his sheets with an overeager barmaid or two. Her stomach gave an unhappy lurch.

"What?" he stared down at her, cross and confused. "No. Why would there be anyone else here?"

"No reason," she muttered, eyes darting away from his, hoping that neither the panic or relief she'd just experienced were evident in them.

"Look, Weasley, either tell me what you're doing in my living room or leave me alone. I've got a headache that could rival the _Cruciatus _curse and no desire to get into a slanging match with you today."

Rose shot him a particularly filthy look but managed to bite her tongue before the words 'arrogant' and 'prick' could manifest themselves. Instead, she clenched her fists and sucked in a deep breath. This was not going as planned. Best to start from the beginning: "Albus is drinking -,"

"Yes, you told me that already! Sweet Salazar, we're going in circles here -,"

Rose's restraint snapped, her glare directing a caerulean sea's worth of fire at the irate blond. "Am I going to have to silence you -," she jabbed her wand at him, threateningly, "- or do you think you might manage to shut that irritating gob of yours for one second?!" Scorpius snarled at her but didn't interject again. "As I said," she seethed, "he's drinking. And when Albus drinks, he tends to forget that he hails from the Hogwarts House famous for producing history's most deceitful wizards, and that he is not meant to tell certain things to certain people."

She watched his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly but he didn't bite, not just yet.

"For example," she continued, glare locked on his, "he once told Roxanne that her new haircut made her look like Mrs Norris after he'd had one too many pints at the Three Broomsticks. And at a particularly eventful Sunday lunch, having drunk an underwhelming two bottles of Butterbeer, he accidentally ratted out James by telling Uncle Harry that he wasn't planning on going back to finish his N.E.W.T.'s -,"

"Not that this isn't a fascinating story," Scorpius interrupted, snidely, "but does this speech have a point?"

Rose flinched. He was being his old self, the git that she'd so loved to hate for the first fifteen years of their acquaintance, and she had to fight against every one of her old instincts telling her to swear and scream and curse him into the middle of next week. She had to try and remember that there was a reason she'd seen fit to storm over here (besides the instinctual urge to yell at him), because she'd discovered he was more than just a smirk and an acerbic tongue. That he was actually kind and decent, caring and funny. That he was worthy of being loved just for who he was… and that she somehow found herself first in line should he wish for someone to do so.

That was all rather hard to remember, though, when facing off against his stupid, sneering face.

"My point, you insufferably smug wanker," she felt her lip curling, "is that he told me what you told him, and what you almost told me, and now I'm here to tell you that I know, but I want to hear it from you first!"

He arched an indignant eyebrow, arms folding across his chest. "Weasley, I'm not even sure that was in English."

She let out a huff of pure fury. Why did he always have to be so difficult?! And how dare he scowl and smirk at her, acting all superior just because he could still string a grammatically correct sentence together, when he'd been treating her like a puppet for weeks. Playing her off against herself and dragging her into his web of half-truths and scheming. And – _Gods! – _he looked annoyingly handsome in that fitted t-shirt, shoulder muscles flexed with tension and hair blatantly uncombed. Maybe he'd let her run her fingers through it later and then -

_Focus, Rose!_

"Why did you lie to me?" she said after a moment of calming breathing exercises, cooling her boiling rage down to a threatening simmer.

He frowned and eyed her warily. "You'll have to be a little more specific. I've lied to you an inordinate amount of times over the years."

She rolled her eyes; well, that was reassuring. "About the Floo. You told me you hadn't got your flat connected yet, but evidently that isn't true." She waved her arm in the general direction of the fireplace she'd recently exited. "Seems an odd thing to try and hide."

Scorpius jaw twitched. If Rose had been a little clearer of mind herself, she might have spotted the faint flush that coloured his cheeks. "Perhaps I just don't like nosey Auror-types knowing all of my comings and goings," he shrugged.

It was a good job he was out of arms reach, Rose mused, as she had a rather vicious urge to try and punch him in the nose all of a sudden. "Or perhaps you're just full of absolute hipprogriff shite, Malfoy," she growled. "You lied about it when I found you in my bed, and again after we'd been to the pub, and _again _at the Gala, and I want to know why."

"A shame, then, that you and I both know that 'I want' never gets. Or didn't that brilliant mother of yours ever teach you any manners, Rosie?"

The use of the overly familiar nickname sent a jolt of something though her. She looked at him properly then, trying to see through the red mist of her annoyance. He was being an evasive git, although that was nothing new and she really ought to have expected it. She'd come here hoping for an apology and confirmation that her new found feelings were reciprocated, and hadn't really considered the eventuality that she might not get either. The thought ignited a burning near the base of her throat, reminiscent of bad indigestion, and she swallowed thickly.

"The night you and Albus had been out drinking, and I woke up with you in my… room," she couldn't bring herself to say 'bed'; the word alone conjured up images of entangled limbs and breathy moans and long, pale fingers dragging over her skin. She blinked them away quickly before they had chance to distract her. "Did you - … I mean, were you coming to tell me something?"

Scorpius stared down at her, his expression stony and impassive. "Why would you think that?"

"Albus said -,"

He clenched his jaw tightly and looked away, "Right, well, I think we can both agree that Potter has become somewhat mentally unhinged these last few weeks. Probably best not to take anything he says too seriously."

Rose's heart gave a dull thud behind her sternum. She stared up at him, blue eyes wide and unsure of themselves, and watched the tendons in his neck grow taut. She imagined she could even see his pulse point, jumping almost erratically as hers. This entire conversation felt like standing on a crumbling cliff edge, hundreds of feet above a rocky outcrop, or a shark infested sea, or a pit of volcanic lava, or some other equally implausible yet excruciating way to die.

For all Malfoy's assertions, Rose knew Albus hadn't lied. Her cousin wouldn't do that to her, no matter what state he was in, not about something like this. But she supposed it was possible that Scorpius had simply changed his mind. Just because he had felt something a few weeks ago didn't mean he felt it now. Maybe spending all that time alone together had caused him to re-evaluate his feelings. She knew she could be difficult at times and, well, it wasn't as if she'd gone out of her way to be nice to him for the last fifteen years, now was it? Maybe he regretted saying anything at all to Albus. Maybe he regretted kissing her. Maybe he wanted nothing more from her but to go back to their previous arrangement of badly hidden mutual dislike.

She felt a sudden prickling sensation behind her eyes. Oh, _Helga's tits_, she bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. This was bad. She really wasn't a crier. Time for evasive manoeuvres.

She almost ran for it immediately; the thought that Scorpius simply didn't want her was not one she wished to have to process with him standing right in front of her. But if there was a single lesson that she'd had drilled into her in life – as a future Auror, as a Gryffindor, as a Weasley – it was that, sometimes, you had to be the brave one.

"Perhaps you're right," Rose muttered, dragging a hand through uncooperative curls and trying not to let her dwindling courage totally evade her. "But the thing is, you once told me that there has to be a grand gesture… you know, in order for a bloke to win over the girl of his dreams," she shifted awkwardly and found she could no longer look him in the eye. "And, well, if that had been it: you bursting into my room in the middle of the night to talk to me, absolutely hammered and probably being a self-important tosser…" she shrugged and fixed her gaze on an unassuming spot on the ceiling. "Against all the odds, I think it might have actually worked."

Scorpius stared at Rose. Rose stared at a lighting sconce as if it were the single most interesting thing she'd ever seen in her life. The air between them fell deathly quiet.

She managed about thirty torturous seconds of hearing nothing but the rush of blood in her own ears before Rose found she could no longer hold it together. She needed to get out of this room that looked and smelt like him. She needed to get away from the man that she'd irrationally pinned her hopes of future happiness to, and who was now offering her little more than a rude stare. She turned on her heel, making quickly for the same fireplace that was partly to blame for all this mess in the first place.

Perhaps she could go into hiding, she thought miserably. Perhaps she and Al could move to a deserted island or a remote mountain top and live as celibate, love-less hermits for the rest of their lives? They could start a retreat, where other idiots who loved too much and thought too little could come and recuperate from heartbreak.

She snatched up a fistful of Floo powder just as a strong hand enclosed around her wrist and hauled her back into the living room. Rose stumbled over her own feet, staring up into an intense grey stare the colour of armoury silver. Her lips fell open, as did her hand, the powder making a mess on the expensive looking rug.

"What does that mean?" Scorpius practically shouted at her, his face suddenly very close to hers, her arm held aloft in his grasp.

Her base instincts took over and she scowled at him. "What do you think it means, you great prat?!"

"Pretend I'm an idiot -,"

"Not a particular stretch for the imagination."

"- and spell it out for me," he narrowed his eyes at her. Rose could feel his breath, heavy and warm on her cheek. She swallowed thickly.

Her pulse pounding in her ears and fluttering beneath his fingers, Rose tried to think through the fog of confusing feelings. She didn't want to be the one to cave in first, to make herself vulnerable, but as she'd learned in her hostage negotiation lectures: sometimes you had to give a little of yourself, to get something greater in return.

"It means," she started, tongue darting out nervously to dampen her lips, "that I have recently discovered that you're not a total waste of skin and oxygen." He growled something unintelligible and tightened his grip on her arm. Rose mentally scalded herself, she was really going to have to work on that urge to constantly insult him.

"What I mean is," she tried again, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts, "You… You work hard, and you care about your job, and you're actually very good at it."

Scorpius frowned. "Are you trying to headhunt me, Weasley?"

"I'm trying to say you're smart," she snapped at him, "and you're not wasting your talents. You _do_ have ambition. You're also intuitive and… and kind. You care about other people even if you don't want them to know it; like Albus, and your parents, and girls that get stood up on dates and are in need of alcohol and fried foods."

He was staring hard, fixated on her face, his brow determinedly drawn into a scowl.

Rose pressed on. "You're quick-witted. You make me laugh even at my own expense, and you're never boring to be around. You might be the most infuriating git on the planet but you always keep me on my toes."

The grip on her arm relaxed a little. She felt his thumb stroke absentmindedly along her inner wrist.

"You're apparently the type to offer your coat to a girl in the cold. You're on a first name basis with House Elves and muggles who own fish and chip shops, and you make the most delicious breakfasts I've ever eaten in my entire life -," her cheeks coloured a little as she realised she was rambling. She fixed her gaze on a spot near his collarbone and tried to focus on what was most important. "You take problems in your stride, places and things are just more interesting with you around, and you make me feel on edge in the best possible way."

She chanced a look at his face and found his eyes had turned the colour of molten metal. The scowl was gone, no sign of a smirk or a sneer or anything cruel. Rose took a deep breath and steeled herself for the final hurdle:

"It means that, despite my better judgement, I find myself in love with you."

And at that, her courage finally gave out. In the seconds of silence that followed, Rose felt her knees grow impossibly weak, until she was sure it was only Scorpius' hold on her that was keeping her upright. She was just wondering if it was possible to wandlessly _Avada _herself, when he finally spoke.

"Weasley, I've been in love with you for two years. About time you caught up."

Rose blinked up at him, even as her blush deepened, before rolling her eyes, "It's not a competition, Malfoy, for Merlin's sake." And then she looked at him, slyly, "Two years? Really?"

His own cheeks made a valiant attempt to match hers for colour, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Maybe a bit longer," he muttered, sheepishly.

"Longer?!" Rose's eyebrows made a break for her hairline. "When -, I mean, what…_why_?"

He shrugged, guiltily, and suddenly it was his turn to study the lighting fixtures. "The 'when' is straight forward: at that stupid party I threw for Al's twenty-fourth birthday. You were yelling at me about something unimportant and I realised that had been the best part of my whole night. Then you went home with Matthew Boot – Hufflepuff wanker – and I sulked for three weeks," he grimaced at the memory. "The 'why' is less simple, because I almost don't understand it myself. Obviously, you're brilliant; brutally funny and annoyingly beautiful. You're the most exciting person I know, in fact. But you're also a nightmare, who seems to have made it her life's mission to loathe me. Bloody fucking frustrating to not be able to stop thinking about you, if I'm honest."

Rose let the back-handed sentiment wash over her. She had questions, lots of them, but her heart was hammering so wildly she couldn't form any of the important ones coherently. "So, when you said you'd been trying to seduce me since we were seventeen…?" she eyed him, suspiciously.

"I was just trying to wind you up. I really did find you incredibly annoying at school. Fit, obviously, but an absolute harpy, nonetheless."

Rose realised, with a snort, that that should have made her angry, but oddly she just felt relieved. It had been bad enough feeling as though she'd been strung along for these last two weeks. If all their many years of high school animosity had also been a lie, she might've had to _obliviate _herself.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked, frowning when Scorpius immediately scoffed at the suggestion.

"Weasley… You are aware that, before this month, we'd barely had a civil conversation in almost ten years, right? Even when I knew how I felt, any time I tried to approach you, you would just roll your eyes and call me a tosser!" Rose felt a little abashed at that and bit the inside of her cheek – that sounded exactly like her and she knew it. "Then all this ridiculous rumour nonsense started and, suddenly, you were the one coming to me. You turned up at my work, let me take you out for dinner…" he shrugged, "I was hardly going to try and put a stop to it when it kept delivering you right to my doorstep."

"So, you just kept lying?" she shot back at him.

"About the Floo, yes," he nodded, cheeks flushing pink, "but only because I knew you'd never admit that you actually wanted me to stay. I didn't lie about the rest of it, I had nothing to do with McLaggen or the articles in the paper. I just… didn't exactly mind people thinking there was something between us."

Rose huffed, blowing an errant curl out of her face. She could hardly claim he didn't have a point. She'd been nothing short of atrocious to him whenever he would come around the flat or they'd cross paths on an evening out – though, in her defence, she had always assumed the loathing was mutual. And he _was_ frequently a tosser. That part was entirely justified. A tosser who just so happened to make her feel as if she were missing an internal skeleton whenever he looked at her, or that she might explode with rage, or happiness, or unadulterated sexual need at any given moment they were together.

Scorpius cleared his throat, reclaiming her attention, and fixed her with the faintest of smirks. "Can we go back to talking about how you're madly in love with me, now?" His thumb brushed across the back of her knuckles.

Rose turned beet red but couldn't hold back the bubble of laughter that popped in her chest. Staring up at him then, this ridiculous man who made her feel everything from one end of the spectrum to the other, she found herself beaming. His own face split into a boyish grin, of the variety fully intended to make a girl swoon. Rose had to admit it was very effectual.

"So," she mumbled, cheeks warm, realising they were once again smiling at each other like idiots. "What happens now?"

Scorpius blinked and ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "I honestly have no idea. In my many imaginings of this conversation, you've generally punched me in the face and stormed out by this point."

"I'm sure you were fully deserving of it."

Scorpius nodded, grin widening. "Oh, definitely. However… if you'd be willing to forego the grievous bodily harm this time, I can think of a different type of physical activity we could try, instead." There was a predatory glint in his eye that sent a rush of heat straight to Rose's lower abdomen. She bit her lip, revelling in how his gaze was drawn to the movement.

"I'm not sure you can guarantee me the same sense of satisfaction, Malfoy," she mustered a smirk of her own, even as a firm arm coiled itself around her waist.

Scorpius scoffed against her neck, "Cheeky bint," causing gooseflesh to erupt along her arms and a shiver to ricochet to the very base of her spine. He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye – heady mercurial grey on lustful azure blue – and licked his lips rather unsubtly.

"For the record, I am completely obsessed with you, Rose Weasley," his voice deepened to a rumbling timbre. Rose became acutely aware of how many unnecessary items of clothing they were both wearing.

She dropped her gaze to his mouth, "Bizarrely, the feeling is entirely mutual."

Scorpius dipped his head and Rose went up on her tip-toes, and it took less than a nanosecond for their lips to meet forcefully in the middle. They each let out a moan of longing that would have mortified the pair of them, had they not been otherwise engaged trying to physically meld themselves into one solid being. She eagerly parted her lips for him, her hand sliding into his hair, as he pulled her tightly against him, crushing her against his chest.

_Sweet Helga, _Rose sighed into his mouth, it felt as though this was all she'd been living for these last few weeks.

His tongue caressed hers, encouraging and exploring, as he held her firmly in place against him. It was slower than their other kisses, saying more whilst doing less, but it was no less capable of making Rose become weak at the knees. His nose felt warm against her cheek, his light layer of stubble grazing her fingers as she brushed along his jaw line. He bit down on her lower lip gently and she pressed herself against him with a contended sigh.

"_Gods, _Rose…" he uttered a noise from somewhere deep in chest and she could practically feel the vibrations of it beneath her fingertips.

Scorpius began to pull her towards the doorway, at the same time as Rose made to steer them towards the couch. He grinned against her lips and she pouted, sliding her hands beneath his t-shirt and hoping he got the message that she was in no mood to wait. He reciprocated in kind, his cool fingers making her shiver as they slipped beneath her clothing and up over her waist. Within seconds, she felt the pad of his thumb brush over the cotton of her bra, and an aching need – one that she'd temporarily doused and forced to abate since their fight at the flat – came roaring back into life, making her toes tingle and a surge of want to pool between her thighs. She rolled her hips against his and he finally acquiesced, staggering towards the sofa, his mouth still staking it's claim on hers.

Suddenly, Scorpius paused and pulled his wand from his pocket, waving it over his shoulder towards the fireplace. Rose heard the faint click of a locking charm and arched an eyebrow.

"If you think I'm taking even the slightest chance of Albus or anyone else Floo-ing in here and interrupting whilst I'm fucking you senseless, then you are sorely mistaken, Weasley."

At his words, it was as if a tightly wound ball of lust finally uncoiled within her. She let out a desperate moan at the same time as she grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt, dragging him back towards her. They collided, limbs reaching for each other, chests crashing together, and toppled backwards onto the sofa, his wand clattering to the floor.

Rose wriggled out of her jumper, Scorpius' t-shirt quickly followed, and they both paused for a moment, chests heaving, to stare at one another. Rose took in the expanse of pale skin, taut with muscle and sinew, the defined 'v' of his obliques disappearing beneath the waist band of his trousers. He caught her eye and smirked, Rose's cheeks flushing with colour as he dropped his gaze to her chest, his own pupils growing wide. She couldn't get his hands back on her soon enough.

She revelled in the weight of him, pushing her back into the sofa cushions, as he set to licking from the shell of her ear down to her collarbone. She gasped and tugged sharply on his hair as he suddenly sucked on her through the fabric of her bra. _Gods, _if he didn't take the rest of her clothes off soon, there'd be nothing to remember her by but a puddle in her knickers, she was sure of it. She was vaguely aware of him kicking off his sweatpants, leaving him in only his boxers above her, before he brought his mouth back to hers. His intense fascination with her lower lip – nibbling, sucking, biting – distracted her until she was momentarily startled by the sensation of cool air on her chest, alerting her to the fact that he'd already divested her of her bra. He palmed her greedily, thumb ghosting over her nipple till it peaked to attention.

"Scorpius, please," Rose panted his name against his shoulder, the sound turning into an involuntary whimper when he replaced his thumb with his mouth. She bucked against him and he groaned, releasing her nipple for the briefest of seconds before seeking out the other, tongue circling lazily before he sucked it into his mouth. Rose writhed beneath him – _oh, bloody fuck, _since when had jeans been so unbearably hot and uncomfortable? She needed them gone, like yesterday.

Pushing against his shoulders, Rose wriggled out from under him just enough so that she could shuck off the offending clothing. Scorpius grinned wolfishly at her almost naked form, and Rose made to swat him on the chest but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back with him so that she had no choice but to clamber into his lap. They both let out a ragged groan as they connected again, the new position aligning the heat of Rose's core with the hard swell of his boxers in the all the right ways.

His lips were on hers again in a second, his tongue exploring her mouth as his hands explored the rest of her – running over her waist, her breasts, tangling in her hair and gripping at her hips. The ache at Rose's centre had begun to pulse with an urgency she'd never experienced before and she ground herself against him, trying to create some of the friction her body so desperately craved. Scorpius let out a guttural noise and tightened his grip on her thighs.

He dipped a hand between them, dragging a finger across the wet patch in her knickers, making Rose cry out. He grinned, smugly, and muttered against her neck: "Shh, Rosie. Whatever will the neighbours think?"

If she hadn't been so intensely focused on his fingers, now rubbing in teasing circles over her underwear, she would have glared at him ferociously, honestly she would have.

Scorpius swiftly tugged her knickers to one side, sliding a finger into the wetness he found there. "Oh, _fuck_," he groaned, watching as Rose's eyelids fluttered shut, her hips rolling of their own accord. Rose was too far gone to even consider being embarrassed. She'd been thinking of very little else for over a week; the fact that she was so physically ready for him was of no surprise to her. Scorpius, on the other hand, was mesmerized. He couldn't take his eyes off her: he stared at her face, her lips, her chest. He watched hungrily as he slid another finger inside of her and she moaned and dropped her head to his shoulder.

"Tell me that you want me, Rose," he muttered into her curls, his breathing coming fast.

Rose whimpered against his neck and rocked against his hand. "Oh, _Merlin_…. Scorpius, please… I want you."

Suddenly, his wonderful fingers were gone, and Rose almost cried out in frustration before she realised that her drenched knickers were slowly being slid over her thighs. There was a movement below her and they, along with Scorpius' boxers, were long gone. She felt him against her, hot and hard and nudging at her entrance, and spread her legs a little wider. Scorpius grabbed a handful of hair and brought her mouth back to his, gripping her thighs as he aligned them, before thrusting up into her with one hard snap of his hips.

His hiss of pleasure was lost amongst the string of unintelligible sounds that Rose had begun to make. He pulled back, till almost his full length was out of her, before he slid himself back in to the hilt and held himself there. Rose gasped, literally gasped, at the sensation of being filled with him. For all of her fantasising, she had never dreamt that anything could feel this good. She looked down, and his eyes – so dark she could hardly tell what colour they were anymore – locked with hers. They both moaned as he jerked inside of her.

Their breathing coming fast and shaky, Rose began to move. Scorpius head fell back against the sofa as she fell into a steady rhythm, hips rocking up and down, her inner walls gripping him tightly. He raked his fingernails over a sensitive nipple and she cried out, losing her concentration. Scorpius smirked at her and, _sweet Helga_, if that wasn't the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life. Rose retaliated by sucking on the spot just below his jaw. He growled and grabbed at her hips, using them as leverage to thrust up deeply inside of her.

"Oh… _Fuck, Scorpius_," she gasped. Scorpius groaned, watching himself disappear within her, over and over.

Rose could do nothing but grip onto his shoulders as he drove up into her again and again, making her cry out in pleasure with each snap of his hips. She was close, had been from the moment he'd first laid a hand on her, and she could feel her release building with every stroke. As if sensing she was near, Scorpius brought his hand back to her centre, lightly circling her most sensitive nub with the rough pad of his thumb. The sensation was in stark contrast to his fast, forceful thrusts and Rose's brain short-circuited.

She cried out, her body going rigid above him as a tidal wave of pleasure crashed over her, rippling out from the point at which they were so intimately connected until every cell of her body felt engulfed in the most intense, wonderful fire. Scorpius continued to drive into her even when she fell limp against his chest, his fingers digging into her hips in a way that was bound to leave bruises, until his thrusts became erratic. He shouted her name into her curls, along with a sting of other expletives, driving into her once, twice, three more times before he lost himself completely within her.

They were a heap of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. The air was a heady mix of him and her and sex. Rose and Scorpius lay entangled, catching their breaths and letting the aftershocks of the last few minutes wash over them in the quiet of the room. She listened to the regular thump of his heart, racing beneath his sternum, and wondered if she'd ever felt so utterly content in her whole entire life. Twisting in Scorpius' arms, wrapped tightly around her and absently stroking along the length of her shoulder blade, Rose peered up at him from beneath thick lashes. He opened one eye and grinned at her, lazy and sated.

"You cannot imagine how long I have wanted to do that," he muttered.

She snorted into the skin, slick with sweat, at the base of his neck. "Two years, apparently."

He chuckled, and she listened to it reverberating through his chest. Merlin, she loved that sound. "Longer, if we're being totally honest. I said you were annoying at school, not that I didn't fantasise about shagging you in every other broom closet. I like to imagine it might have knocked you off that infuriatingly high horse of yours."

She swatted him in the chest, "Git," but couldn't fend off her laugh or the blush that warmed her cheeks.

She could have stayed there for hours, warm against his skin in the aftermath of what was almost certainly the best shag of her life, but as her heartbeat began to slow and the rest of the world crept back into her consciousness, she realised – with a whine of annoyance – that she actually wasn't done confronting people for the day. Shifting from his lap, she made to disentangle herself from his limbs but he coiled his arms more firmly around her, pulling her back on to him. He planted a kiss on her forehead, her nose, both of her cheeks, and then grinned at her like an idiot.

"Give me ten minutes and then we're going to do that again. And then again, and again, until one or both of us passes out from sheer exhaustion."

"Actually," she bit her lip, "I have somewhere I need to be, believe it or not."

You'd have thought she'd just slapped him in the face with the indignant scowl he gave her. "I certainly _don't _believe it. Impossible. Preposterous. There is nowhere else in the world you could possibly want to be right now."

Rose grinned as she rummaged on the floor for her discarded clothes, pulling her jumper over her mane of red curls. "I said need, not want, Malfoy. Trust me, there really is nowhere else I _want _to be but here."

He narrowed his eyes at her and huffed, evidently only marginally appeased. "Fine. You've got one hour. And if you're not back in this flat, naked in my bed by then, I'm coming to find you and dragging you back here."

Rose stared at his smirk and felt something stirring again behind her navel. No, she wasn't quite done with him either, it seemed.

"You have my word," she bent down and kissed him deeply, lingering far longer than she intended to, and had to wriggle out of his grasp again almost five minutes later. She'd made it halfway towards the front door when she tripped over the sodding copy of _Witch Weekly_, discarded on the floor. Picking it up, her eyes darted across the various photos of them together, and she found she had to hide her stupid smile, fearing Scorpius' inevitable gloating.

A pair of arms snaked around her waist and she felt the warmth of a bare chest pressed against her back. Mercifully, he'd deigned to put his trousers back on, at least. "I was wondering if you'd seen that already," Scorpius muttered over her shoulder. "I'll send some owls, get them to print a retraction about the 'girlfriend' comment. Can't imagine that'll go down quietly at your next Sunday lunch."

Rose bit the inside of her cheek, watching the various printed versions of herself practically glowing with happiness. It was sickening, really. "Or, you know…" she shrugged, nonchalantly, "you could not." She turned her head, catching the hopeful, wary look in his eye and grinned. "I'd say everyone's got to find out sooner or later, but I'm fairly sure they already think we've been going at it for weeks."

"Better late than never, I suppose," he had the audacity to wink at her.

**O**

To avoid making the national newspapers for a third time that week (this was a predominantly muggle neighbourhood after, all), Rose apparated to a secluded spot a few streets away from her intended destination. She didn't mind the walk; the cool evening air felt gorgeous against her flushed and sensitive skin – who knew declarations of love could give a girl such a glowing complexion – and with each step, she felt the delicious ache in her core confirming that she had, in fact, just been royally shagged. She felt positively glorious.

She stepped up to the familiar green door, knocking purposefully, and bounced back on her heels as she listened for movement from within.

The door opened just a slither and a pale face peered out. "Rosie?"

Rose stared at her friend, her eyebrows shooting skyward. Maria Thomas had not been exaggerating: the poor girl looked like absolute hippogriff shite. There were deep purple bags beneath her eyes, the tip of her nose looked red from over use of tissues, and there were clear signs she hadn't eaten a proper meal in over a week.

"Emily," Rose sighed, smiling kindly, and privately reflecting on the idiocy of the human condition. "I think you and I ought to have a chat, don't you?"

* * *

**Eighteen months later**

The Three Broomsticks had never looked so festive.

Strings of golden fairy lights (that Rose's mum had been assured did not contain actual fairies), were strung from the rafters, trailing down from the balcony and wrapped around the banister. Streamers of white and gold interlaced amongst them and a smattering of confetti littered the floor, churning up under people's feet like glittering flecks of snow.

Rose surveyed it all from her perch at one end of the bar. The room was aglow, and not just with the decorations but also the people within it. The pub was currently closed to the public for a private function, and try and she might, Rose could feel nothing but joy for this room full of her nearest and dearest. Even James seemed less annoying than usual, although that might have had something to do with the fact that Fred and Dominique had been spiking his drinks all evening and he was currently passed out in the bathroom.

Earlier that day, Albus Severus Potter and Emily Alice Longbottom had been married in the Hogwarts memorial rose garden. Rose had found the setting a touch too nostalgic for her tastes, but she supposed it made sense when the groom's father had literally saved the place from being burnt to cinders and the bride's father was its newly appointed headmaster.

Emily's mother, Hannah, had pulled out all the stops to make the family pub the perfect venue for the following celebrations. Rose watched on, happily, as her family and friends swung each other round to an enthusiastic ceilidh band. Ceilidh apparently being the Scottish word for 'physically hurl one another across the room, incurring multiple minor injuries in the process'. It was magnificent chaos.

Through the jumble of legs and arms, Rose spotted a familiar smirk making its way towards her. It split into a wide grin as its owner caught her eye, sliding onto the stool beside her, seemingly out of breath.

"Having fun?" Rose laughed at him, instinctively resting a hand on his thigh.

Scorpius grinned back at her. "Your mother is an absolute menace on the dance floor. Also, your dad tripped me during the 'Gay Gordon', and I'm not sure I believe it was accidental."

Rose pressed her lips together, "Oh, almost certainly not," she barely contained her laughter.

Scorpius mock-glared at her then, looping an arm around her shoulders and stealing a quick kiss, before nodding out at the sea of various bobbing red-heads. "So… fancy having one of these soon, then?"

Rose almost fell off her barstool. "Beg your pardon?" she stared up at him, blue eyes blinking quickly.

Scorpius shrugged casually, a familiar glint to his eye. "Seems like fun. Everyone gets to dress up in their fineries, we'd make pretty speeches and then drink copious amounts of alcohol. Plus, you look particularly ravishing in white," he smirked at her.

A wave of light-headedness reminded Rose of the fact that she needed to breathe. "Scorpius…" she eyed him, warily. "Are you -?"

"Also, I found this lying around the other day, thought you might like it," he ignored her startled expression and fished a small, velvet box from his pocket, tossing it casually towards her. Rose caught it with shaky hands, making quick work of the delicate silver clasp, and gasped at the contents.

"Scorpius Malfoy," she chided him, incredulously. "You did not find a ring with both of our initials on it and an emerald the size of my fist just _'lying around'_!"

Scorpius sniggered, and tutted at her in amusement. "You're too clever by half, Weasley; you see straight through me, as always. I had it made. For you, if that part wasn't already clear."

Rose shot him a filthy look, her lips betraying her as they quirked into a wide smile. She stared at the ring lying in its velvet cushion. The light from a nearby candle caught one of the delicate jewelled facets and the bloody thing almost blinded her. It really was ginormous, and astonishingly beautiful.

"So? What do you say?"

She glanced up at him just in time to spot the flicker of uncertainty as it darted across his face. He stifled it quickly beneath another smirk, but she knew him too well. She'd stared into those eyes across too many rooms and too many pillows over the last year and a half. She'd become something of an expert in the secret emotions of Scorpius Malfoy.

"I say," she muttered, lips curling into a teasing smile, "that you should ask me again in an hour." Scorpius frowned but she distracted him by leaning over and kissing a very particular spot just below his ear. "Because, right now, I'd like to take advantage of one of the several empty guest rooms upstairs. You see, some idiot once told me that it is tradition – _neigh_ – their solemn duty, for the Best Man and Maid of Honour to get drunk and shag at the reception. And I'd hate to stand in the way of tradition, wouldn't you?"

Scorpius's gaze darkened, his eyes trailing from her face and down across her curves, coveting as they went. Rose slid herself (in a way she liked to imagine seemed elegant) from her stool, urging him to follow her with a gentle pull of his hand. They'd almost made it to the top of the stairs – and most importantly, out of sight of her parents – when she felt his hands ghost across her bum, coming to rest possessively on her hips.

"Just for the sake of my quietly fretting ego," he muttered against her ear, making Rose's heart beat a little faster, "When I ask you again in one hour, you are going to say yes, right?"

Rose snorted, "Yes, Malfoy, you impossible git," she rolled her eyes and grinned at him, "I'm going to say yes."

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> For those who are looking for a little more ScoRose, I will be posting the first chapter to a new story in the next day or so. It's a little darker, more angsty, but I hope you'll join me for the next ride!
> 
> ET


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